Found a pink wet thing
like a prawn on my pillow this morning
felt it, smelt it, looked at it under the microscope
and I could see memories, rumours and dreams
scrawled in my handwriting over the surface.
I keep my bit of brain in a jar, feed it marmalade,
call it Fred.
Frightening to think what might be missing –
unexplained chunks of my life.
(I can’t find the remote). Tonight
I sleep, orifices stuffed
and my ears glued to the sides of my head.
Source: Seen on a London Tube poster as part of the Poems on the underground series in 2001.