To practice death is
to practice freedom –
Michel de Montaigne
I was in a pale civic room –
as women bent over their
ailing-&-aligned spouses
In fiction [reading others’
typed at lives] we get lost
& closer to a dreamt life –
found in films – or lit by a
streamed series – I’ll see a
better lived life than one I
had – all has shifted since –
no selfish tears at a coffee
morning for us diseased &
carers [no self-flagellation
to get it up] – Listen to that
silence – in my day I dream
[no sleep’s inconvenience]
& I’ll now live a better life &
deny all narcissists’ cries at
greedy upsets – this is mine
to own – to define – as time
lies I’ll employ my honesty