Poetry thoughts and ideas. What I'm reading, what I'm writing and the bits of my life that fall in between
Friday, August 05, 2005
One Hundred Weary Words
Tired. At first it is the shop, inconvenient, under staffed and lacking variety. I’m feeling hot and a little claustrophobic. I want to leave, give up and go back to the car. But the car feels miles away. So I trudge on and find a wall to perch on for a few moments. It is too bright. My legs feel heavy, a strain to lift each one. I’m walking slower. The camber of the pavement is awkward and the road feels as if it is rising – slow tortuous gradient. And then the head pressure – continuous drilling, a dizzy, numb, incoherent fumbling.