Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Mired in pall-
     mud
          I spin, stall
fall
into mosquito mood:
               itchy, twitchy tense
               pins and needles soul:

My wall runs up.
My well runs dry.
My will runs down:

More animal than soul
               more partial than whole
                                                   unable
          to square the circle shit
               I shortcircuit
                                           whirl
          into my very own
                                      personal hell
               humming my favourite
          self-hypnotizing spell:

Nothing means much.
Nothing means nothing
much:

Jam on my handle
                     on life
     cutting edge gone
                            blunted
       by dirty-socked bedrooms
               mildewed basements
                                                    clutter;

Babble-bubble
                    of spurious talk
     deliberate fun
          puts me
     on an emotional run:

I drive introspective shafts.
I pan the past.

I strip myself for meaning
                             and uncover:
     frozen outcroppings of emptiness
          occasional flecks of copper pyrites
     granite insignificance:

I hesitate
     before the futility of action
     the despair of inaction
                        - can’t find the courage to be
the necessary pimp
               between me
                                      and now:

Energy Crisis.
Being Cramp.
Entropy:

I am sculpture
     in a cemetery culture
where marble kisses
                                               separate
          and bird songs
                                               grey
                                               metallic
                                               twitters
snap.