Friday, July 22, 2016

The Hours

6.15 am. 
The bathroom floor reveals tiny stories-
a yawning ogre by the bucket, 
an orgy near the door-

11.30 am.
Receding cold exposes old scars
making doors unclosable
windows shriek at mid-morning,
the vegetation under our skins die.

3.40 pm.
A sticky eye tears apart;
afraid to blink, in case it shuts forever
ceiling un-drips, coils back,
the sane smoothness resumes.
More tea, yes.

6.45 pm-
I waddle through the tingling coherency
of your reasons.
its hydric warbles;
a particle, a wave
we remain-
exquisitely inconclusive

11.20 pm
I am afraid of our immeasurability;
I look for the dead ends,
but all I see is a labyrinth
swallowing itself.

1.00 am
a car’s reversing tune morphs in half-nightmares.
a crow’s incessant pecks on my forehead.

3.20 am-
I press my dripping glue-hands to my eyes,
to prevent my face from dropping off
on the floor.

3.45 am
Beasts gnaw into rib-spaces
colours from each brick sucked
clean lines and bones of still life
leaves in grey-scale-
Moon - the silent bleacher
streets, teeth-white and forlorn-
the graph of the city shivers
its aged veins exposed.

4.00 am
Tossnturn tossnturn tossnturn
dance of even-toed ungulates
defeating bleats, tiny hoofs
pitter-patters, flurry of fleece
Whoever suggested counting sheep!

4.15 am
Miniscule dolls on each hair-strand
chorusing sand-papered screams.

5.00 am
Moon-pill breaks-
spills, a cloud-stained sky
I am drenched in
mute ballads and neurosis
airless craters become allegories for love

6.00 am
behind my spine-
a woman-shaped lake forms
golden framework
teeming with the new-born earths.
the first bird sings a lullaby
parched eyes close welcoming-
the restless brevity of dreams. 

Image: Brian De Young

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