By A&E Frequenter, 10 October 2021
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Dislocated
from society,
All the plot holes and Sinkholes and
Molehills to make Mountains of,
Just specks,
On the horizon. Sometimes,
When all the trip-
Lines and deadlines
And flatlining punchlines Get too much,
You need a real Mountain.
The crisp air
Takes your hand,
Capering around the
Figurative fog,
Weeding it from your brain.
Outside, everything
Seems Dislocated.
It’s easy to lose yourself in
The continuity of your surroundings
And in the subtle changes
And the empowering belittling
Feeling and the unrealistic
Realisticness of it all and,
And lose your train of thought.
Everything seems so beautifully balanced.
The literal fog is a beautiful hazard.
Concentrate on each step,
Contain your excitement.
The figurative fog,
Gone.
Like
My
Balance.
The glinting lights
Hanging from the ceiling
Of the A&E waiting room,
Are no match for the stars that Hung in sky, just out of reach. The nurse comes out
much later;
I barely
recognise
my name,
I'm still atop
a mountain.
“Dislocated”.
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