Vice

Saying no to one thing
is yes to another
Towards art, towards the soul
resolve to say what i mean when I mean it
can feel its fingers on my shoulder too tight
I don't need a parent (says the child)
Responsible and uncaring
I need the air from her lips,
the lightness of her meadow
my how the time passes
suddenly I am old -
and I still feel the clammy vice
twisting my movement towards itself
like a bird on a shortening wire
my struggles bring me closer

Now I break the wire, shed my skin
leave them holding nothing
Not too old yet -
I can still see -
and write about that which is important
Not commuters anymore
- they are souls suited to the neverchange
the habitual, souls without the need for flight -
not that they would turn it down
but whatever I seek above
they find just here
on the 07:18 to Liverpool Street