The oracle of the body

It lies bloodless, wasted now
words have fallen on a swollen ground
neither warm to a sun nor bowing to a pulling moon
a beating of a tin drum sound
following that nausea
my mind moving about like a dog asleep
while lights go out
I fell wounded again from that sickness honesty
that practical joke of men
as a woman stood and looked at my greyness
'yes   what are you looking at ?..shithead .. go away' 
she walked away
I followed her not thinking 
'manic, I feel I am manic, shelter me' I whispered to her as she carried on walking away  
'manic' , she puzzled
she answered herself .

.'no fuck ..manic? what the fuck is that' growling under her breath
'this coat is old now,  I slept in it 6 months. .more in fact .. greasy now '  I said
'dark at the edges and wearing thin'    I stroked it 
adding,  'people look at it'
'it is wool,' I said it louder,  'so warm'
I dont see them or I will shout out , 'I am tired go away'
I took out my book at the gate
carefully stroked it and put it back in my neatly perfect pocket.
It was bloody on the edge so I pulled it back
what had I done now ?
I wiped it with a finger and let go my trousers to the floor
I recalled some pain
and a face that acted hurt as on a screen
this blood was hers

I sat 
she screamed so I answered 'sod'
it didnt drip off my finger
it sat like jelly
I put a little bit that looked like a tear to my mouth
it tasted of iron
I swallowed, sucking 
the woman came back and shouted ..'idiot'
her dress was a yellow shiny material with creases
I took her aside, kissed her on the lips, it tasted of iron, it seemed delicious
she laughed and ran away
'not afraid of me, why not ? I am manic'
so was she 
I began