Lifeforce

Sometimes, even though
it's hard to get comfortable
and the slight oil of my finger-skin
makes it difficult
to type at the speed I want to -
it seems I have no choice
because the words
all jumbled and jostling in my head
slide down the open vessels,
along the nerve shafts
and finally jump
like small blue sparks of living electricity
onto the keyboard
and magically appear
on the screen in front of me

Other times I just sit and ponder
wondering how I ever became so rich
how I could buy an island if I wanted to,
a tiny piece of broken-off earth
the skin of which I would walk along -
I would walk and walk
two or three times a day
waiting for the life-blood waves
to throw green glass orbs or
old bottles across my path
and I would watch as speckled porpoises
leapt and frolicked in the pale lifeblood waves
nudging round grey stones
onto the sand - stones
that I would use instead of money -
or soft pink shells, all strange and spirally
and I would take these shells and
reverently place them in jars
on my windowsill, or forget about them
where they would make holes in my pockets
but I would not care so long
as I can sit everyday, as I always do, and
have tea and toast and marmalade
                                                with you...





















Lifeforce
©crisstiena