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Poem	it began as a secret desire (an itch in the marrow too vague to get through to the bone) an idea that never could make it as flesh - there wasn't a part of me sane i could tell that would have spared it a breath to get started so i slept one midday i woke up with a bang - light was bashing in through the windows and suddenly out of my pores sprang this fully-fledged practical paeon this triumphant brass-note of praise for a why-hadn't-i-yelled-it-before sort of answer to my life's rubbing-out of my dreams i’ll jump from the window (i sang to myself) and i'll fly and be damned to daft icarus i crowed and i flew - or i fled (which is very much the same grain of word and it graciously covers the gap between the experience i had in my head and the one i met rushing up from the ground where the glasshouse splashed around to reflect me as i passed on my way down to earth and the squirt of my dad's best tomatoes and my mum's angry mask of a face that just wasn't brought up to be fruitful) so i fled - or i flew - out the gate up the street till i melted just like that daft icarus before me and i thought well why the sod not so i jumped in a pond till i cooled and the blood from a scratch on my hand turned the green water red but not a thick peasant came to be in on the wonder and i had to go home soaking wet to a tongue that had blisters and a belt round the head from my dad - but i lived which is more than daft icarus did
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