Gliding in,
float down,
autumn leaf.
Skip coming winter,
my twice-dark, storm-whipped road,
through normal door, to normal room.

Carry thunder in my head,
As torrents rivulet my face,
twice soak my shirt.

Picking, my crippled way,
through conjured obstacles,
toward my bed.

Grim drawers, grey-fade, to shadow doors, hanged history, behind.

Great historic tenant, stares out.
Somewhere, his silent orchestra, blows and fiddles,
Its shadowy audience,
Miming,
Entranced.

Crescendo,
Augurs,
Dawn…

Dark, Blows Up, in front of me,
My stuck view, hangs,
in the fresh-cut sun, sliced open.

Brutal dawning.

Damson splash, reaching through.
As I’m laid back, on cold sheet,

Waiting,

For the gale,

To die.

Red Gull, paints, inside my eyes.
Why dawn strikes.
Two mad bodies lean too,
their massive, lined, faces,
blowing, fresh through.

Hairs on feathers, spray blood-sun-sky,
into my waking head.

Im sewn too,
stitched, as part, of sleep and wake.
Nature’s curtains, pass view,
and divide my life’s smile.

Creation hails, my flat out, crucified, self.

Dark,
Heavy branch,
Leaf mess.

I am pain

I am awake

Now

I am

memory.