Waking up
I remember
Exactly nothing

Forget who
And what I am,
Forget why
And when

I look out the window
See a blue sky
A few clouds
Go about doing
Little of much

And it’s good

Great even

But slowly
Starts to crawl over me
Like ants,
Sting and bite
It all back

And there is a feeling
Of something
Shooting out the bottom
Of my feet
Of something being flushed
Of a million birds
Dropping dead all at once




Paul Grant lives and works in Milton Keynes, a place where very little happens. This is perfect.