John FitzGerald

Joe Smith’s Diary 1.

I hardly sleep because of dreams.

They don’t become me, and could be obsessions,

Depending on whether it’s day or night.

Visions seem incompatible as birds and windows. 

I’m no genius if you ask, but I am if you don’t.

All who know me are convinced I’m one of them. 

Sheep’s clothes is just a joke, but look how it works.

I adjust to fantasy, if need be. 


This is my diary, I’m narrator now,

For God’s sake, no one can stop me.

If everyone’s lucky, I let them live.

I can set ten free and go unnoticed. 

What must I become?

I’m much too efficient for everybody.

We’re nowhere near the end when time runs out,

I am resigned, and have insight into it.


Sometimes sound is enough to relax me.

Others my head hurts about tomorrow.

I notice what I don’t.

I’m on my own, apart from myself,

As if missing half a moment;

Some search below prayer engulfs this one dry spot.

The mind’s a freeway and I’m using the whole thing.

I have this cushion of space around me.


So oh, how I must be mad then.

Gone on and on as a top into wobble, winding down.

Like the opposite of what you should receive.

Depersonalized, and wish-like, short.

Stress on time or change,

I can’t become attached to either, however meaningful.

Raindrops make a tune

You have to go back before the big bang to account for. 




“Joe Smith’s Diary 1.” is from Spring Water (Turning Point, 2005).