I want to be a welter-weight
And hanker for the belt
To breach memories of failure
And open me to the sleight
Of hand that opens all doors
To youth again.
The sledge of hands opens
All doors to the memory of what’s
Important to you (not me)
Before you ask, what is it
You want to know? If it is me
Then ask away but gain no answer
The pace-maker takes over my heart as
I give my life to the sciences, owned
By no-one in particular as it
Shoves blood to the cavity known as
The soulless one.
What devil lurks in the answers to that?