And you pretend, you’ve never seen a person
Taken with the wind.
I’ve allowed myself to drift to it,
Finally, removed my shirt, and thrown
Myself into the mist,
And there you sit.
You cast a firm glance when I said
The air was singing. You wondered
If I had lost my mind.
And of course, that was the beauty of it.
Well, sit there. Feel the floor.
Work an appetite over the earth for a while.
I’ll be elsewhere; I will be
A thousand feet elsewhere, I will be
Dancing on thin air
For once. I’ll be back, one day.
And by the way, you’re sure to find,
If you should raise that head of yours,
That I will be drifting still;
And if you can listen out for it,
You will hear
The singing air, and me, still singing with it.
I rarely go in for free verse. I am still, even to this day, vaguely suspicious about it: because of my education, really, it feels somehow unEnglish. But every now and then, in poetry as with everything, it feels good to cut loose.
This is largely inspired by a handful of oldie pop songs, notably from Fleetwood Mac and REM, but predominantly inspired by the handful of friends in my life who have taken great pains to tell me to Bloody Well Chill Out A Bit.