Poetry: Ostinato By Tom Stuckey

ostinato

 

sometimes it’s scary to sit down at the keys

for the worry of what I might find

it can be a bit like waking up 

to find the brain 

flailing for its 

terror

 

so what is it,

human philosophy aside,

that makes it so?

 

i am sitting in a room

my room

there is an electric heater 

glaring out crushed oranges

on the walls. 

the fish are slowing down for the day,

like my heart 

that  s l o w s,,,

 

no one here to play with.

except

dead writers 

that tell me cleverly 

and

eagerly, 

like wind spinners,

 

love\hate\love\hate\have 

 

until i get close, 

- just to - 

ignore it, again, 

for one more dreamless night

in soso 

 

one night 

i wont, 

and it will be glorious.

 

 

 

 

 

Tom Stuckey is a poet from Devon, England.