When fearing curses dominate verses
and pure coincidence leads to waking dreams of waving friends ignoring passing hearses
with odds in favour of things going well
and mouthless spirits gagged from spinning their dark spell,
that little voice in your head
asks ‘But am I that jinxed to be voodoo chicken led?’
When going mad and being reckless
with bottles pouring out their medicine poisonous
joining in the drinking and daring yourself to dive
in at the deep end of red water as you burp out speaking speech bubbles live
that little voice in your head
eggs you on to repeat what you just foolishly said.
When quiet and deaf to tut tuts.
When as sure of yourself as a self-contained saint.
When talking to yourself with no ifs or buts.
When no negative thoughts can taint
feelings of doubt
that little voice in your head
whispers assurances like a newlywed.
That little voice in your head
is your saviour and your executioner.
The one that plays on your better and worse judgement
and your amateur schizophrenia.
The one you call little but which sometimes booms and clangs like heavy lead
as you sleep off your days
as light as your primary school snores of felt Zs.
(from ‘Ventriloquist Dummy Voice-Overs’, photo from graffiti in Cagliari)
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Author: aprettykettleofpoetry
