Red Band

Standing in the shower,
Muttering half-sentences over and over,
I curse myself.
In the same breath I try to allow myself to live.
I curse the thoughts that curse my nature.
I stretch out one wet hand.
I summon myself in the shower.
I call to my hand.
Where is.
What is.
How is.
I know that I will want to write this down.
I refuse to suppress any impulse.
I am warm. And I am wet.
I have no pen nor paper,
No water-proof dictaphone,
No quill and ink,
No waiting scribe,
No biro,
No cast,
Nothing.

Tomorrow I am cartographer of my mind.
Tonight, poetry.