Night of dream storming

And so the rain beats comfy in the gut

Snuggled up in itself and rounded
Out like a loud joint creaking in the

Wind that feeds the curls of wayward hair
And births the life of thoughts that
Migrate like enterprising robins through

The ruts of energy that cool the livers over heated blood cells in a maze of

Wicked swirling craves that pace up and down the corners of the cell that sits in the final of the labyrinth seat of real truth

The collection of eaves that make up me that could at any minute exchange space with you or it or they that make up

You or someone and something else into a string of nothingness that is as true, although intangible like the feeing of a

Prayer soaked up on a day when pennies were raining, pitter patter, patter pitter, on the window pane.

The world is so loud at night

I hear Morocco pulsing

In my feet and Hong Kong

Twinkling in my throat

 

Montserratian and Barbadian lapping

Ears over to New Orleans,

Rolling down to Acapulco

 

Further down Columbian greens

That heard my father’s

First word to the world

 

Now I’m flying high above

The deep giant squids and

Corals, fighting and fading into blue

 

Back to Europe, Corfu

Familiar pieces of the jig saw puzzle

Curling at the edges, many missing

 

Do of it what can be done

With what is left, before

Some breeze, dog or toddler gusts it apart, unthinking.

Light pollution

Oh I wish they

Wouldn’t sing at

Night, the birds,

When my chest

Is tight and the

Road to Day is

Spiked with dreams

That cannot be

Seen in light of bird

Noise, rogue

Dawn speech strayed

Off the sun.

 

Please sit quiet

On your branch

And wait, if sleep

Is too heavy for the

Light state of a

January that knows

No snow but isn’t

Spring.

 

Blossom is already

Breaking the tired grey,

Confused from lack

Of sleep because

Autumn forgot to turn

All the lights off and

Let the heating run all

Night.

Letter from the night

Broken beats cracking

The ear drums,

If they didn’t miss

The junction

Round about the heart.

 

Woken sleeps that

Wait the slide

While thunder hoods the

Pitch with

Noise that quakes the eyes.

 

Sorrow skims the

Bootless calm

Of knees that let shins

Tinge with

Grief that hands won’t clean.