SHE WAS SO–SO
SHE WAS WORSE THAN SO–SO
BUT SAID SHE WAS SO–SO
SHE WAS SO SORE, SO LOW, SO
SHE TOOK TO WRITING ABOUT DRUGS
WRITING ABOUT SMOKING
WRITING ABOUT ALCOHOL &
WROTE HERSELF REPEAT PRESCRIPTIONS & LINES &
METAPHORICALLY HUNG HERSELF TO A WASHING–LINE
AS IF HER SKIN WAS HER WASHING &
HID HERSELF BENEATH HER DRIPPING SKIN
ON AN ENDLESS LINE &
WANTED AN END, SO
SHE CUT OUT BEGINNINGS &
COLLECTED UP THE ENDINGS
WHICH IMMEDIATELY UNRAVELLED &
FOUND THEIR WAY INTO OTHERS' STORIES, SO
SHE SLUMPED DEEPER INTO THE BASEMENT OF HER WRITING:
SHE WANTS WINGS BUT FINDS HERSELF A SYRINGE,
SHE WANTS A CIGARETTE HOLDER NOT THE ASHTRAY OF IFS &
BUTS,
SHE WANTS A COCKTAIL NOT AN EMPTY BOTTLE,
SHE WANTS THAT CONFIDENCE, SO, SO MUCH,
SO...
Rupert Mallin
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