All of England’s watery eyes
On me as I descend
When for the last time?
This time, just a past time
For now, I’m sure.
To plunge suggests my own volition
God bless Eli Lilly, more potent than any icon
From cosmic force to coma
In the space of a single night, revolution in the head
Delirium, tremors, stutters, benders.
Now I transmit fitfully my tales from the void
Burrowed below the North Pole, some obsolescent circuitry outlives its fate
Weaves me charts from the girth of Mars, news of the stars, my sins.
You don’t need a weatherman
You don’t need the weather
You don’t need a man
Submerged, watery-eyed England watches me descend
One day I’ll break before I bend.
The copyright of this post belongs to Ben Hargreaves