Retreating some,

I get an overview;

watch my decades behind

and below;

how they fit into a bigger picture

of time, war, famine

and hard work,

deaths and births, loves and hates

and indifferences,

the evolution of Man,

the demise of the Neanderthals

and the loneliness of Homo sapiens,

and further out the beginning of organic life

down the depths of fluid

over this rocky suspended realm,

made possible and unavoidable

by supernovas

ejecting the elements

- but long before that

the speculative breath of NOTHING

I close the bedroom door behind me

and secure it with an empty bottle

of 1500 ml Grant's,

which I shove in place with my foot;

fall back onto the bed

and continue where I was

in Helen Macdonald's Vesper Flight

A mosquito sings

in front of me, dances,

explains a whirling geometry

of a dozen dimensions in concert;

an opera aria coming to a halt on my hand

I'm sensitive to the infra end of things

The mosquito operates the opposite side of events,

but with enough intensity

to pry through every laconic indifference

I modernize my thinking;

have it pure and merciless,

albeit dressed in words that fall

like meteorites and falcon droppings

There was a spur of panic

and displacement this morning

On my way down the stairs

to the kitchen on the bottom floor,

I suddenly lost sight of who I was...

I wasn't just my body,

but I was hanging on to me,

just behind, like a backpack

I was slightly out of synch

with myself, numb,

out of touch but attached,

observing my thoughts like objects,

not seeing double but being double

At the bottom of the stairs

I was sucked up by myself again,

quite relieved

A soft rain walks past

on billions of small feet

I'm reassured and calmed

by the tapping

The universe is breaking rules

inside my head

I bow and smile