GOODYEAR 

 

Train tracks go through balancing lakes 

over the underground, green like I had 

never seen. A new city reservation, 

are you working was the banter in

a dole hoppers paradise. 

I litter picked poetry of the street 

and became a poet of peace, feel 

so proud to give people hope, 

go beyond my creative writing class. 

 

Published poets and poetry  

Slammers that teach a creative 

Class, rared three sons to stand 

On their own two feet, grand- 

 

Kids who have magical minds 

Violets, lost lives anagram a man 

Locked-in-syndrome, stroke but 

He isn't dead yet, going around 

 

And around again roundabout 

City a merry go merry go round. 

Formed under black hills rising 

Father is buried up there plot- 

 

Less, even if he was a bastard 

I owe him all of this, the biga- 

Mist mountain, I.R.A. man 

British army informer, my  

Opinion mole-ester doesn’t 

 

Matter what he was we have 

To be human I am doing his 

Karma. Life in this hell cell 

isn't so bad, without memory. 

 

Where did this come from? 

Last night I remembered 

My router code and my 

Password to go online, re- 

Membering not to forget. 

I’m just going with the flow 

Into a magic realism, magic 

Is part of me, compelled 

To write this. I can't seem 

To get out of myself. 

 

Can't write with no minds 

Eye aphantasia aphantastic 

Two words that spell me. 

I can't get out of myself 

Just like the Da in me. 

 

Syndrome-locked-in. 1