A potentially interminable state of being.

The one where any brush cannot prise apart

When the fingertips have to strip back to

claw their way though the tresses

Arms rowing through tempests over

reed beds , fighting with mermen for

coral combs with which to decorate.

 

It’s important to feel one’s head,

the shape of one’s skull, at least once per day.

A reminder of mortality and the precarious nature of life.

There is no special format to our existence

but to know that it’s our own skull sitting on our shoulders,

that it’s our own mind which steers us

avoids confusion and mayhem. Usually.

 

I try to engage twice daily.

In the evening I search for tell tale

reminders of the day’s adventures

Overarm swimming through the knots and

tangled jungle vines I tear them out,

scrapbook those I have not lost

and release a great mane over my feet.

Time to sleep