Letheon

I do not think of the lights I’m wheeled beneath;

how many bright corridors I’m funnelled through.

I do not think of my elliptic swelling,

of how much this theatre gown exposes.

I do not think of holidays, of England,

nor of the cannula’s foreign incursion.

I do not think of death, statistically,

of my slip into unconscious abstraction.

I do not think of anything, just river

with the stars – wade into them, forget myself.