Stroke Poems  Tumour That knot that tightens as it travels with you;  the bug or wire that informs against you.  Four years you almost cough-out its name.  It speaks in vomit and deafening migraines  (until you’re whittled down to a bone ladder) (until there’s no space left for the both of you). Tonight, when your eyes can’t shoulder the ceiling,  it will speak and lightning your body in two.  We’ll see who survives from there.  What Happened  Here’s what I remember:  lights and the heavy bell  of the ceiling; odours  flung across a room.  The head-pain eclipsing  every other detail …