Training It

This is an experimental poem I wrote about 8 years ago, before I deleted/threw away all my poems. I found it folded into a book. I don't normally write like this. I think I wrote it in like 20 minutes.

embankment muck and ratty leaves go in
to the tunnel as close as money or ruin

or the light of your inner critic irradiating
all things bright and smug so like a hedgehog

you can crawl out between brambles and graffiti
with your fleas intact and get to work

while your head throbs with ambiguity and lack
of caffeine but there's always just enough

hope to keep you off the tracks when a morning
seems fluffy like Dracula's hair and each sunrise

is warm like indigestion and pretty like a sperm's wriggle
on a piece of plastic scrutinised like a ticket

to your own pillow where boring days are plotted
with ease or otherwise nevertheless and on time

for you to catch the journey of just beyond
for long enough to know when to shut up and write

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