A chronological collection of writing during my son’s first fortnight of life, in Neonatal ICU.
That brief moment before grief takes hold
and you’re swallowed whole
into that mesto you face
with no control,
Buffeted by whatever,
like dust in weather,
rot all square for the screaming.
grappling like a loony
all rookers clutching at nothing
and nogas going
-Unseen Flirtations (filtered via ‘A Clockwork Orange’)