Status Epilecticus

Early Evening 7th December 1996

I think that every epileptic fit is perculiar to each individual. The poem below is my signature.

Status Epilepticus

The indelible fear

when the music plays loud.

Stretching and pulling on

every note.

A fist to a wall.

A zing to a snap.

A penchant for violence

Is on the fast track.

She’s moving quicker

With a silent flicker,

She’s falling backwards

As I’m getting bigger,

A towering colossus

Breaks on the ground,

A snake down a ladder

With its shivering rattle.

The roof of my mind,

Its steel now rent,

By a tumbling tornado

Of a force majeure.

There's a lake of green piss

and a stream of black bile,

The march of the shoes

Form a ring at the head,

Hands stroke the air

With fingers that dance.

The train’s stopping.

There's words in a pot,

A smell like honey

Drenched and hot,

A swelling of the tongue,

The crushed lower lip,

An old man’s spittle,

Sweet baby shit.

I walk this city,

Urban in flight,

Where muggers trail

In the shop window lights,

In search of doorways

And grim litter traps,

Where I can Fit silently

In Peace when you pass.

KM