I have no poetry

Porridge.

 

All too grey,

too confused,

this morning.

 

The horizon

between sense

and information gone,

 

lost in mist,

night’s dream escape

itself forgotten.

 

Yesterday’s sarcasm

was never truly funny,

just wild defence, against folly.

 

I pour on a little milk,

watch as it pools.

 

Can I eat this simple prose?

Can I thole this tasteless morsel?

*

‘Testimony of the Untested’, a daily lockdown poetry series by Robert Alan Jamieson, who is in recovery from a corona-like virus. You can read his other works here.