To my shamefully biased brain, this is one of my best poetical efforts.

As with most poetry that I write, it was written late at night. There’s something about late night that brings out poetry in people … and no, it’s not the moon.

I am drunk on time,
drunk on life.

I spread my arms
and embrace the sky;
I lift my head and kiss the wind.

I ride the sheep road to the moon
and whisper to the stars.

Drunk on life, drunk on time – what is ‘I’ and who lives
in my head?

My skull is mine. My hands are mine.
Look! I move them! See! they respond.

Pulse beats. Eyes see.
My nails dig my toes clench my knees

I ride the sheep road. And the
It is of course

Drunk on time drunk on life drunk on me.

Where is what is who is how is when is
Oh! living.

Wondrous strange.

Eating breathing seeing feeling thinking moving
living living living.

Face. Exist. Breathe. Think. Wonder. Believe.

Above all, go. Go here, there, go – just go!

Movement is
the only certain characteristic of life
or not?

Sit. Listen. Still. Calm. Breathe. Breath.

Gloria, gloria:
Life is for the living.

I am full!