Kit Kelen #501 - this is what I do

501

this is what I do

(apologies to Kit Smart)

For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.

having been overnight

hard at it

called to canvas

(how many other worlds come from?)

first shine to rise

yawn, rub through ache

and blear

catch rain, catch sunshine

and kiss my neighbour if she's home

even at pillow asnooze

a kiss!

all of the blessings

already here

to traipse the page

a little jig

make me true servant of the day

and yet

keep under glass

to stretch an hour

and double-glazed

if wintering

in cherub quest

roll upon wash

and then I'm quadruped

camel

downward dog

then cow

last rub against the post

and now I can say firstly

then breakfast is imperial

fruit with the news

still pen beside

and paper so

then tea – the second cup

take my pills

and swallow

to desk now

and I march the lines

have the surly sods salute

I make them bark

and break them

cull

I might let sleeping dogs just lie

or send them to their graves

for whimsy

in goodness all sorts are suppressed

and so I purr in thankfulness

or I pick up with brush or can

I can manage with burnt stick

I stroke for electricity

my method is always evolving

so hours dissolve into the work

though you would call it play – I do!

or possibly not anything

perhaps you can't see me?

best are all invisible

silent servants each art knows

still though, you have been before

so you understand what I'm supposed to be doing

I ought to be writing the novel right now

I ought to be paying the bills

shouldn't I be at work right now?

how can this one have so much fun?

it mustn't be allowed

and after, bin it (mulch)

then colour then the bloom of muck

then back to white and black

and so on

we go round again

can you see how with me time has vanished

and so much nothing done?

such pleasure!

I stretch again and sigh for loss

such subtlety

and such degrees!

of gravity, of waggery

tenacious to the point

nothing sweeter

than when at rest

yes I'm brinksman

here to leap

what's brisker than the mind

bent on its poetry?

and tread the music measure

is this not all the swim for life

and slink

so

creep

I cross out

a little kip

and then I start again

leave traces

trails

I traipse the page

and though this next

is not a question

won't you

please

follow

me

?