Coming Distractions

From the edges of your vision to the edges of the room,
From the sweeping of cognition to the sweeping of the broom,
From the buzz of distant chatter to your neighbours through the floor,
To the thousand tiny matters that are breeding by the score –
So many things to notice that were always there to notice,
But were never worth the noticing before.

So ev’ry thought that seeds your day,
And finds such rich and fecund soils,
Will parasite your bark –
And ev’ry thought that runs astray,
And wanders through your mental toils,
Will leave its tiny mark.

From the edges of your reason to the edges of yours scars,
From the sweeping of the season to the sweeping of the stars,
From the altogether trivial that scatters anyhow,
To the random and equivocal that sleet against your brow –
So many things to worry that were always there to worry,
But were never worth the worrying till now.

So ev’ry thought that tries to sway
Is often sly as it embroils
Its subtle, plaful lark.
But ev’ry thought that comes to play
Shall leave behind its share of spoils
In particle and quark.

From the edges of a bare trace to the edges of awake,
From the sweeping of the staircase to the sweeping of your stake,
From the incidental incidents and glorious mundane,
To the vaguest feeling since it went from overcast to rain –
So many things to wonder that were always there to wonder,
But are never worth the wondering again.

For ev’ry thought that seeps your clay
Will ooze its crude and viscous oils
That faintly glow the dark.
And ev’ry thought that blows your way
Will drive your turbines, spin your coils,
And generate your spark.

Retro Virus

My my, little virus, haven’t you been busy,
Clogging up my sinuses, roughing up my throat –
You naughty little virus, you’ve left me low and dizzy,
All watered in my eyeball and shivered in my coat.
Oh my word, what hell you are !
You’re truly undesirous –
But I am multicellular,
And you are such a little virus…

I may be fevered hazily,
And sorely dripping nasally,
But I will beat you back – by deuce –
With peppermints and orange juice !
I may be rasping breathily,
But you won’t be the death of me –
It’s hardly some acute bronchitis,
Just your rhinopharyngitis.

Now there are tons of nasty bugs
Resistant to our latest drugs –
Herpes, hepatitis, rabies,
Take our lovers, take our babies.
You are nothing like those thugs,
You’re even less a pest than scabies.
Best you manage is to tire us –
Call yourself a proper virus ?

But best of all, you’ve given me the cure –
You’re down and dead and done, and that’s your lot.
Your brothers may infect me further, sure,
But you will not.  This was your only shot.
Your end is nigh, so take your bow,
For look, here come my t-cells now.

And next time you come plumbing,
Then you won’t catch me succumbing,
Cos I’ll spy you with my clear, unstreaming iris –
I’ll smell your protein codes
And I’ll taste your lipid nodes
And I’ll eat you up, you puny little virus.

And should your children come my way
Mutated in disguise,
They maybe lay me low, but hey,
It won’t be me who dies.