for Riley

For me there is no border between laughing
and crying. Ever since the stroke they are on
the same/different path. I cry watching stupid
sentimental films reading books and even
cartoons. Suicide pounds my head everyday
like a humdrum beating the only real headache
left to man,Its like being trapped in a cliché
a catch22, I rise above the gutter.

Sometimes i'll just burst out crying
or laughing as if I have no control.
My emotions are all up the left
I even laugh at people in wheelchairs,
I laugh when I should cry. I remember
once going into hysterics of laughter
when my friend read poem on Hiroshima.

I don't know where this poem is going?
Ill sit and wait for a path to open
into this poem. I can feel the cogs slip
into the gears of memory. The cars go by
and life goes on but its the magnetised
menagerie of letters from the immediate-
moment that catches my mind.

From chaos the last stanza of this poem
is created by my grandson who threw
these letters across the room and my son
formed this mess on the fridge door.
Alone is the only word that throws
itself laughing/crying into this poem.

Fridge Alone