breakfastential crisis
existential crisis
the I in Me
who AM I?
because the more I try
to identify
the I doing the trying
the more mystifying
the whole thing
gets
and despite my threats
the I forgets
quite what the point it was making and sweats
and asks for something less complex
like even when I’m sleeping tight
there’s still a restless ME kinda light
flickering behind the lids despite
me thinking for ONCE I might
go to bed early and get a good night
I mean – how is THAT right?
maybe you think
the I is a kink
slow to grow but gone in a blink
the ghost in the machine or the missing link
the phantom whatever that makes you wink
when you’re skating backwards at the skating rink
let’s say
because you felt like hitting the ice that day
BUT WHY?
WHY SKATING AND NOT A BOAT TO SKYE?
OR A WATERCOLOUR OF VERSAILLES?
OR DRIVING A DAI
HATSU?
I’ve no idea but have you tried shiatsu?
especially round the head and neck
because what the feck
your I seems to me like a nervous wreck
take the first exit
Sometimes when I’m arriving / or leaving / or deciding it’s high time I stopped / and dropped / all the buying and complying / all the dealing and denying / the blind believing / like sometimes when I’m driving / somewhere nice / or not / somewhere cold / or hot / listening to podcasts / forecasts / browsing through broadcast whatnots / the latest schemes / dietary regimes / ponzi queens / killer kitten memes / diana ross and the supremes / political extremes / bin Salman with a book out / on how to plan the perfect Turkish cookout / Cameron with his crook out / in his sheikhy shepherd hut on the lookout / while Johnson jokes from the downing street dugout / that’s papered throughout / with the pages of the standards handbook he’s torn out / and on daytime TV / a deputation from the Chinese embassy / interviews photogenically / on the inherent harmony / of Feng Shui for Peng Shuai / and I wonder whether it will rain again today / and flood / and sweep me away in a wave of mud / and whether I look good in this hood / or whether I should / just accept my age / gracefully / and wander off tastefully / and lose myself in what I did or didn’t do yesterday / and once again I forget what it’s all about / because even though I’ve tried and tried to figure it out / once again I’m circling the roundabout / gripping the steering wheel wracked with doubt
jim clayton 