Nearly five weeks into the period of my viduity,
And all the things I love to do
Now fill me with horror.
Walking in the hills without her,
seems like a sacrilege,
Visiting Art galleries alone…
seems like visual masturbation!
We shared the joy of art,
And now I don’t know how to
My myopic vision into the future,
Cannot focus on anything.
Everything sits in a grey mist,
The pages of my story seem moth-eaten
I live in a silent commune with my dogs,
which were our dogs,
And I get no sense of where we shall be,
A week today, a month today…
I am living Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape,
A play I used to love,
For it’s bleak and stark vision…
But I didn’t want to live there.