These images are seared into my mind
branded like livestock aphant-trauma,
aphasia, paralysed my down right side.
This is my dogs honest truth. Even I cant
understand, I call these pomements moment-
us moments No past cling on to memory
spoke from a broken mind.
I feel so alone,lost they cant handle my
negative capability. My filthy realism, how
can you come to terms when you have no
long-term memory.
There is nothing else in my mind like
odes they are a song of myself. I wanted
to write a romantic poem like Keats, Milton,
but my paradise is lost. The morphic vibration
of life is felt through works of art like a sham-
manic fox foot fall, fingerprint. I feel poe-art
without memory; poe-art is under my skin.
It seems I have lived two lives, one with
and one without.
A Fox Looking at a fox by A Fox means
so much to me; I like those flow states.
A Fox Thought and the Dreamscape of
the fox thought.
I can't put my finger footfall on nature's
memory but feel adrift. Like the diving bell
and the butterfly, fluttering in a backward law.
A reverse effort floating up to the top, locked-
in a default syndrome.
When I first took the massive stroke, j was
drifting between life and death in a flimsy
hologram, a grey state. Beside my hospital
bed was an exit door.
Above it was a little green man. I was tripping
like I had never tripped. The drugs to keep me
live were making me hallucinate, and my balance
was gone; I couldn't even put my foot on the floor,
it was like an ocean. My compass point of fantasy
and reality, I had no fixed issue and couldn't tell
the difference.
Everything on the ward was moving nurses
on off rota; patients time/space meant nothing to me.
The little Greenman I focused where I got this strength
of mind is beyond me because the stroke erased
my hard drive. There was nothing in my mind
but I told myself if I had seen the Greenman, then
I was in reality and not fantasy, hallucinating.
I realised that the consultants whispered, not
knowing where I fit in life or death.
Self-determination gives you strength if you
just believe in yourself It felt great knowing that
I was in control of my stroke recovery.
The nurse opened the exit door, and I tasted
greenery. My ashen grey flimsy hologram felt
the rush of life. The breath of fresh air was like
the stroke boost that woke me bolt upright
from death's door. Declared dead for seconds,
I saw my reflection in my son's eye
like a zoom-zom-me. Summer entered me like
a rebirth; the nurses, and doctors saw me
in a different light. Paddy, the little green man,
showed me Ashfalt which led to the bluestone road
and Lylo cemetery, where my mother and sister
are soiled, waiting for me.
This was the first day of my blemished acceptance;
I knew where I was at the back of the hospital.
A Google map opened in my mind like a sat-nav.
From that moment, no matter what three hospitals
I went to, the compass point was in my mind
I no longer felt lost and alone.
I felt good in myself, knowing my mind had figured
this out; there was hope in me. Paddy showed me
the road; self-determination is a beautiful thing.
If only we believed in ourselves. I was on the road
to recovery, not hell.
