Now 24

Smooth out the crease
of my mussed-up head.
Day gifts its fleece
night draws up its bed
I would be at peace
but I fight instead.
Smooth out the crease
of my mussed-up head.

Give me the keys
let me go home.
I’ve looked at the trees
and I’ve watched the foam
parted from seas
by the wind’s comb.
Give me the keys
let me go home.

What is my life
so calm and inflamed?
My pen my knife
it is to be blamed.
(I long for a wife
but she would be maimed.)
What is my life
so calm and inflamed?

Paper it is
scrawled on and true.
A boy’s fuss and fizz
is sharp-edged and new.
This prize is his –
to write life through.
Paper it is
scrawled on and true.

I’ve been here and there
and now I’m still.
Home is nowhere
except at nil.
Lord God of the air
treat me at your will
for I’ve been here and there
and now I’m still:

Smooth out the crease
of my mussed-up head.
Day gifts its fleece
night draws up its bed
I would be at peace
but I fight instead.
Smooth out the crease
of my mussed-up head.