So you know how I reminded you of how

I’d said Coleridge invented the word

subconscious, and then I said but I don’t think

I can have been right?  Well, while you all

went on to the pub to talk like Coleridge

into the night about Aeolian harps or meme theory

or Bronies or whatever arcane topic

played itself out over your intellectual strings,

I entered the labyrinth of my H-drive files

and located there notes on the unconscious

according to which Leibnitz and Wolff

in the seventeenth century already

used the word; in the eighteenth, Rousseau

was experiencing with passionate intensity

what Leibnitz and Wolff recognised in theory;

and oh, by the nineteenth, the sturm und drang,

the amnesiac dreams, the vertiginous descents,

the wilful belosing of regular sense …

            I wouldn’t read any further if I were you.

Turn back to your drinks till I am through

this dark and haunted section of my notes,

this inner chamber, this extra quarter inch

of largeness on the inside where no

string sounds …

            Finished?  Hungover?  Not quite sure

how you got to where you’re at?  We’re

on the same page, then, and right

at the end of my notes is what I must have

remembered when I reminded you of how

Coleridge invented the word subconscious

which he didn’t: the word was …

psychosomatic!

            And now I’d like the word

psychosomatic to take us in a loop

back to the start of the poem to give it

the shape of Coleridge’s conversation poems

but instead, the word seems to have

caused some sort of a block, and

what is that knocking sound I think I hear?