When I die there will be no more
tinnitus.
The insistent ringing will be replaced
by a limitless space, the peace and
silence
I knew as a child in sleep, and if a
voice
were to say 'Welcome home my son, step
inside
and rest now from your journey,' I need
not reply
'What was that? I'm arrested for a
burglary?'
Vision. I shall cast away my specs. Done.
I will have the eyes of a raptor. I can
spot
a prey miles away. And remember where.
Oh yes, my memory will be mint perfect.
No more 'Oh where did I put those keys,
my wallet, my specs, my phone, my knees?
My white hair will flush back to red.
But not the freckles, oh no. The skin
will be
brown and tough, or maybe black and
tough.
Tough is good so I can walk barefoot,
no more white Scots' thin skinned
impediments
of broken and knitted bones which feel
every seed and stone no, now I can bound
from rock to rock claiming territory.
My voice shall have a rich resonant
quality,
a presence. I shall cast away ego as
something
superfluous. Dispatch conceit with a
raised eyebrow.
I shall have a messianic aura. Part seas
or simply walk over the top. Ladies will
flock to touch the hem of my garment.
Chaps will seek to crucify me.
Yea next time I come flying down the tube
I'll be six foot two in bronze and as
strong
as a bullock and as quick as a fish.
With a dollop more intellect for math
and science, and artistic too
with an outrageous sense of humour
and drop dead Adonis. And the Grandda
will say, 'Where'd this lad come frae,
oor Dot?
We dinna breed 'em like that in Glasgae.'
 |
| Apollo eh bro? |
No comments:
Post a Comment