Bye-bye to the messiah that squats
like a toad in my amygdala
casting judgements from a throne
of non-judgemental positive regard.

We watch it smoulder in the pan,
the bright flame feeding on lettering,
running before the charring.

So long to the bull run, the need
to blindly obey the plan, the tunnel
vision toward the beacon and miss
the openings to alternative endings.

We watch it burn away
like a coiling curse,
satisfying, it sets me free.

Farewell to the giant squid
of deep chasms and fissures,
the dead eye of imposter syndrome
and others’ unrealistic expectations,
crafted into a mannequin and
given the breath of life support.

We tear it up and torch
the scattered pieces, see how
it becomes a snake of smoke
slithering across the ceiling.

Laters to the feeling of being
composed of antimatter, a barely
detectable haze of positrons
emitted by proton-rich nuclei
in a fraction of decays,
reinforced by the practice of ghosting.

We savour the smell of its singeing.

Ta-ra ta-ra to the petrifying gaze
of disengagement that turns flesh
to fossil, soft beating hearts to granite
with which to build a detention centre
where inmates are dutifully processed.

We blow on the embers to see them flare.

Let the ash stain my fingers, cheeks,
brow, lips as if this last night of the year
has stroked my face, kissed me,
anointing me with coal dust while
fireworks crackle across the dark fields.

Bob Beagrie (PhD) is a poet, writer and performer. He lives in Middlesbrough and has published fourteen collections of poetry, most recently: Romanceros (Drunk Muse Press 2024), Kō (Black Light Engine Room Press’ 2023), Eftwyrd(Smokestack Books 2023), The Last Almanac (Yaffle Press 2023), When We Wake We Think We’re Whalers from Eden(Stairwell Books 2021). His work has appeared in numerous international anthologies, journals and magazines and has been translated into Finnish, Urdu, Swedish, Dutch, Spanish, Estonian, Tamil, Gaelic and Karelian. He also writes short stories and plays.