Tuesday, 23 September 2008

FM poem

Today I have no comment, fine fingers
shoot up my legs and arms and my
synapses are on amber alert:
I am a map of nerves and my borders
are constantly being patrolled
the perimeter fences electrified and discordant-
through these echo messages
the government of fibromyalgia
telling me that I need to write it down
that a reckoning and a totting-up
on the gross national debt of coping
will mean heavy borrowing and cracking down
of the crossfire from all 11 checkpoints.

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