Poetry

There’s so many different realities here

Somehow I feel an observer

And it seems to me I should like to find the words because I can ordinarily find them

But it seems to me that I can seem to want to say want I want to say

And there are times when I feel exactly I know that I know what I’m doing, see?

I do

Somehow rather I can compose just as well as I ever did

The shifting pattern of things I feel and see around me

I do not know what part of what reality, again

I’d like to find out what reality I’m in

Well I have a sort of a wavering tendency

I don’t know which half is trying to get in the other half but somehow rather

I have the feeling that my hands are not resting against this

And I see flashes of colour, quite a bit

So I feel as though that I have a sort of entrance into a motional life

Yet I can feel I’m sort of anxious about the reality of it