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there is no meaning Hanging a picture on the wall I           give           a little too much force to my thumb skin breaks under pressure an orb of blood      red        red to dark red       to dry red       to skin       to iron       to rust      to heat        to sweat        to yesterdays as we move, we move Tuesday Going into the city with the rest of them sliding down the greased pole of means become ends Let me tell you I slipped and travelled against the sharp grain of escalator, one flight of metal before I hit flat floor and crack, to the back of my head I cried like a child oh I oh I said me        am in pain   I was at work by the afternoon At home by early evening feeling burning scratches on the backs of my legs and the bruised curve of my head My mind curved bruised   In bed, the sheets scraped and tugged me sore any way I tried to lie I     face down, looking for a cool place, stretched out an arm and all that was solid dematerialised I     a nothing slipped into water Water, as pressure I felt the water as pressure I’d always thought of pressure as a pushing down     oh      it was every drop of water for miles working into me There was nothing to my fingers, no weight, no force on the pads of my feet, no cold draught wafting past the hairs of my skin, no sound, no sight I couldn’t set my watch to nothing   I waited I couldn’t scream, unaware of mouth or lungs to do so not breathing, not dead, not alive No fear Not yet Eyes wide open into dark, and no sense Unsayable   The Friday, I dropped in on Uncle Padana It was early summer: shadows fold neatly round corners, light warms the backs of the hands until four and cools before six He answered the phone in a lady voice as I stood outside his consulting room door, then buzzed me in, He’s ready for you now He was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, looking boyish, expectant, tired A Ceropegia hung from the bookshelf and fondled