You are the heat of the moment
Your intense mind-light through lens on the world
And so the pressure rises, blood boils
Yes, the drama is you
While life is quiet in its matter-of-factness
You and your speculation
Your insistence on being in the know
Your demand for life to succumb to your description of it
The way you must win, overcome, immortalise yourself
Yes, you are the heat in all of this
Not the heat of the November sun
Its ecstatic, electric lamp light on a whirl of gnats in the garden
That you’ll never understand
White light so clean and pure on autumn’s leaves and bark
So bursting with colours that tears well up
And everything is such intensity that you’ve no idea if you’re in pain or bliss.
Constant Voice 