Diane Sable

Deleting e mails
Whatever for
The buildup was massive
More than before
with my swollen fingers
One hundred an hour
A remarkable stint
Just think of the now

The essence the spirit
Expressive and pointed
Sometimes I wished
That I was, double jointed
Three hundred and thirty nine thousand
To do
One at a time
People don’t
Have a clue

As months are cleared
More come along
Internally sorted
So nothing is wrong
Don’t misinterpret
What I now say
Revealing the random
The outward display

Take the wraps off
Which tell tale sign
Reading the titles
Line after line
Anonymous senders
Headlines and more
People I once knew
In my life before

commininques and handouts
Galore
All sorts of scams
that had sat since before
All of that energy
In the great void
A bit like old films
On old celluloid

Communications
From six years ago
Old names remembered
Denials below
Old songs
sent to me
Photographs too
Mendacious untruths
Were they ever true

Each night Inclear some
My fingers are sore
My right wrist is suffering
Yes more and more
When I ‘m not typing
Its in sling
Under my cape
To avoid the sharp sting

Nerve pain is awful
The finger tips ache
Masses more needed
Will my heart break
Now 94000 still though to clear
And nobody helping
No nobody here

So many words
Derived from where
All over the world
I do I despair
I look down at my hands
As swollen as hell
But I have to keep going
Try to do it well

I would so hate it
If I should die
And leave this behind
All of these e mails
If someone should find
All of these listings
Words after words
And me wind blown dust
To compete with the birds

As I sit here tonight
Deleting away
Memories really
What can I say
After I have passed
Just ash on a hill
At rollrights perhaps
Sweet memories still

My dearest friend
Will she think of me
When she comes to a ritual
Where my spirit will be
Hopeful to feel her
To see her
To know
to wish I was with her
And once more could go

Back with her
Beside her
It feels unfair
She cannot hear me
Though Her sable hair
With rosy extensions
Her nails midnight blue
If only she thought of me
What could I do

To show her I knew she
Had had a thought of me
Breathe my name on the windscreen
Perhaps she might see
Our picnics together
At the Summerlands I
Sit by the duck pond
A tear in each eye.

Down to 2000 outstanding 70000 in bin at last under control.