(For Clare)

It’ll take the breath clean out of you
When you think the implications through.
Tabula Rasa: blank slate:
No memory, no desire,
Nothing to bend you in any direction,
Nothing to send you lower,
Noithing to lift you higher..
No future envisaged
No presience required
No past to forget
Nothing for sale and nothing to let.
No genetic predisposition
No-one to speak to and nothing to regret
No-one to listen.
A new human. Being is all.
Not doing, not making, with  nothing to recall,
High windows in an empty hall
I'm setting off in free-fall.