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.

Watching you sleep like a lion

Yours is a perfect face and it’s inhabited by the perfect sleep of a perfect mind

Whose full idea of life is to be as quiet and still as possible, a true creature

Unperturbed by the weight of humanity, At one with the quiet behind it

Perplexed by unnecessary ornament that
Ferments reality into human fabric

That cloaks and chokes the bright buzz
Beneath the haze of small talk

Lullaby, no added sugar

Word jar I wish I
Could jam my way
Through

Like a jazz musician
Feeling akin to
Misery in beats

Tipping top lip and
Sticking toes’ curlable
Bits to the very

Top tips of sweaty
Sox from the drum
Hum of the streets

Word jar, I wish I
Could jam my way
Out…

Untitled

There is no way out, the
Present is everywhere I go;
In every state I stop or start
The only EXIT is sleep;
Unless death is a dream.

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.

Rain-Drenched Night

Bogus rogue

The rain broke the

Window out in blisters

Bursting loudly on

The glass, punctuating

The house’s every step

With pangs of water

Driven through the

Thunder-frenzied

Cloud.

Tin hat

The roof pounded

Hounded to the

Sound of cat

Chasing dog and

Dog chasing cat

Catching string balls

Of silence and

Screaming them

Flat.

Stolen mother

The wet curdled wind

Whistling chinks in

The bricks , tickling

Cans and bottles while kicking

Polystyrene and papers

Up to trees bristling over over-

Grown washing sneezing

Socks to the

Breeze.

Lamp-lit quarter

Roller coasts her

Back to ground where

Sleep occurs and

Rest resounds out

Of Darkness and of

Quiet, when sharp

Noises slice unseen

Through ripe

Dream.

　

Night Stings

 

Some nights the blood

Won’t work and the heart

Feels like there’s only

Half a tick of petrol left.

Sleep goes cold

And in the afterlife encounters

Monsters spiked with

Deep-sea electric.

Dawn ripens the above

Into perfect symmetry

Again. A quiet window seat,

Disturbed only by the sun.

Short Summary

2 minutes to Say

A day, yes, let’s,

Quick, before it’s

Stopped and the

Flesh collapses

Into sleep.

 

Say a day somewhere

Far off, not today,

That’s been and

Gone, not worth

Its weight in gold,

So little lost.

 

Say tomorrow, that

Will be, the healthy

World will wake

Once more, tireless,

Unlike me.

 

The wheels will spark

And something roll –

A Clown perhaps,

With a pair of sticks,

A ball and a gun.

 

[7^th October]