Some may think me rude
think me thoughtless,
though in fact,
maybe I think too much
leaving nothing to say.

Warriors invade me in longboats
on chariots,
on horseback
in armoured cars,
on medication,
weaving in, swooping out.

So, I keep you safe,
protected from demons
that threaten that
what my mouth may emit.

Occasional thoughts excite
though hardly make the page
for fear of failure.

Conversation echoes around my head
Philip Larkin addresses Dylan Thomas
between sips of brandy
Thomas peers back
over a flagon of ale
mockingly generous
with underhand praise…

I forget my thoughts
as they filter, into endless loss.
I am the unenviable proprietor
of a house of overthinking,
forgetting thoughts
as they filter into endless loss.

Once they leave, they seldom return
overtaken by Larkins voice,
or a verse to be woven.

You though are the treasure buried deep
my undeniable, despicable, undeserving obsession.