There Is No Production Sheet, No List Of Tasks
Resplendent And Complete, No Ability Or Desire
To Compile Such, In This Timeless Void Sinking
Into The Molasses Of Physical Being That Has
No Meaning
We-‘re Supposed To Use Our Material Appearance
To Conquer The World Of The Senses; My Spirit Un-
Willing To Move My Limbs, The Body In Crucifixion,
The Mind Numb, The Heart Empty, The Hope I Hang
On To
Just Enough To Keep Me Alive Until The Body Swims
Through The Storm Of Food Allergy, When Hubby Feels
Like Eating Something With Curry, Pasta Suddenly
Seems Like The Food Of The Gods, All Rational
Thought Lost
Committing The Sin Of Indulgence, Blithely Believing
This Time There Will Be Respite, All Swami-‘s Agree
Illness Starts In The Mind, Hoping Psychosomatic
Origins Mean My Latest Insight Removed
The Allergy
That I Am Cured – But The Karmic Thought Patterns
That Change Food Into Toxins Are Stronger Than The
Theories I-‘ve Come Across, I-‘m At A Loss To Explain
Why Belief In Freedom Of Choice Is Not Setting
Me Free