Practising

What is life

if it isn’t practice?

What’s the point
of doing anything

if it isn’t practise.

Who doesn’t live in hope of tomorrow?

Who doesn’t know in their underpants

that there may not be a tomorrow,

that this may be the final moment?

My mother used to say “we know not the day nor the hour’

She liberated me from the tyrany of Heaven, the necessity of a future

for which I could not practise.

There is only practice,

forget that and you are lost in the miasma of a moment.

This is not the poem,

this is a rehearsal,

this is practice for the poem,

the poem that speaks for itself

after you are gone

and have given up your vocation

to do your best practice

in case you won’t get a second chance