Michael Thorne Laughing at death Tracking the conversation, the running banter of who is going to die first. “Will I be around for your ninetieth?” “More importantly, will I be around for yours?!” Faces creased with genuine mirth, the thought of it. Eyes forced closed by smiling mouths. I’m here with my youth, You’re there with yours and though I can’t make that leap, your eyes are still closed so I don’t have to. Matisse in the
toilet I
try to breathe in the still life, to jump from my scene to that, sitting in the toilet with my reflection staring back. I
try to imagine the smell of the flowers, paint or coffee as he sat and worked. I
try to hover in one of his moments of inspiration and think of him sitting back for a second of awe, a
shudder of clarity. But I get stuck between the painting and the flowers between the still and the life. Page Up – Poems | 
