Daniel Osborne

I am in love with myself, my thoughts my mind

on my own in a sweet fresh sunny afternoon room

letting insects in

to pat around the windows and die on the sills

My hands have channeled my grandfathers two

and my father one

and made bread and music and lifted the bottle

which I never saw them do

and how different and differently I feel
to when I hang
in apparent numbness
with my speech clear and true
sunk deep inside
no music
quick replies
detached
I have sunk so far in hatred
that I can now stand on the bottom
and this feeling is just as ephemeral
I wish I'd traced my diet and sleep
to recreate it
Time is moving slowly
or not at all
or I am removed...

Now I am too tangled

I am back in the sunny room

and my thoughts have crowded in

and I will not write a word again for a month or two...