GARTNAVEL TREADMILL
----------------------------


Slowly she goes  -
as though each step might
spin the Earth to brightness,
wandering her own uncanny by-ways  -
where we are the shadows and sounds that terrify.

Is it him she searches for  -  her golden-haired lad;
him who lay with her, and danced with her, and lit up her days;

the golden-haired lad: John Barleycorn,
who breathed on her wits?





in the silence
the closing door
the turning key

                                                      notes:  Gartnavel  -   Mental Hospital in Glasgow
                                                                   John Barleycorn:   whisky