Impingement
like a malignant electric drizzle,
sets off down your forearm,
stuttering, vibrating.
Reaches, pulses, extends beyond
fingertips, especially
the middle finger.
At other times it jolts, sends off
surges of uneven calibre. A flat
smattering spreads the jangling,
colonising the back of your hand.
Then rare hiatus as though it's gone,
in a narrow range of positions,
or a vaguely insistent, not unpleasant
tingling thrum. But move a certain way,
and feel a controlled, firm pressing down.
No loss of strength as such
but you know the zap lurks,
will announce its forearm assault
when it cares to. Like when you sit
at table or grip a steering wheel:
fine hot glass shards under skin.
Sleep torpedoed nightly.
Your arm is no longer your own.
You dream of chopping wood.
bw
22.4.15
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