Absent without Leave
I’ve escaped again, I’m away, away to Coumshingaun.
Theatre of dreams.
Foot to the floor, one hour, curse the man in front, curse the distance.
Arrive, prepare, anticipation, a look at the sky.
Listen to the surf in the trees.
Over the wire & I’m free, Tir na nOg.
Solitude, place for thoughts.
Start rising, always rising.
Seeking Nirvana.
At a rock on a rock, chill blast tells me I’ll soon see it, deep, black water, perfect floor.
Scan the bookshelves of my Savage Arena, place of life.
And Death?
But no pitched battles today.
Rising, always rising.
Onto the giant’s jawbone.
I’ll climb on his grey teeth.
Heart in my fingers, demons in my head, doubt, I could fall, embarrassing.
Back off.
Cooler head now.
Reaching, peering, rehearsing, fuck it, go for it, or be a sheep.
Better one day as a tiger!
Glad I did but not the next time, maybe.
Sit on the final incisor, consider the cosmos, Messner did.
Then down, rucksack scraping.
Rising again.
Into the black bog, liquid earth,
half walking, half floating.
Which way now? Does it matter?
I am lost, unaccounted for, absent without leave.
Terry Brophy. 2004.
