MEDICATION, MEDICATION, MEDICATION

MEDICATION, MEDICATION, MEDICATION

 

The medication that squats on my futile life,

squats on my brain, my thoughts, my Inspiration,

even squats on the first, unformulated spark of

appetency in Nothingness preceding Creation…

 

I could write the word “entropy” backwards and

if we could agree on its meaning, you and I,

it would become a real word we could understand;

but it won’t stop the stupour I cannot nullify.

 

Really, I lean on the medication, need it badly,

as all that are truly mentally ill are said to do,

but at what cost? The creative spark, sadly,

seems absent, and the glory days down the loo.

 

Nothing can come from a vacuum, and there

is no music from a black hole, but the symbol [R]

denotes that stance that there is room, room for

Creativity in the synapse gulf, where before

 

Science would say it is all mappable/ predictable

in advance. So it is a large-R Romantic belief -

and yet with my mood made stable on a sterilised table,

nothing is forthcoming like my mind’s ear is deaf.