' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Off The Page Poem by Dónall Dempsey

I was an object
moving at over 100mph

in the fast falling rain
listening only

to the speed

set free from me
to be this object

moving through the distance
of this time

asking the hitchhiker
his name

“Death.”
he said shyly

as if he was embarrassed
at what he had to do.

My life
no longer mine

reduced now
to an object

in a Cornell box

an assemblage
of the all the me’s I once was

with all the missing me’s
I would never be

like the picture
my little girl drew

(Bluetacked now
to the fridge door)

a whirl pool
of dark circles

tearing through

the centre
of the page

with a lone figure

lost in the page’s
whiteness

unable to close
the distance

between the stick person
almost falling off

the edge - of the page

and the broken twisted
man

rain falling
on his dying eyes.