You sleep...

A greyness falls past a fluttering man
Lying in wait behind a broken toy
The rain is a nail-gun of black and tan
Breaking the smile of the wavering boy.

Your naked feet search the sacking cloth floor
hoping to find some fragmented roulade
Your toe flips the lock of an open whore
Clinging from the spine of a balustrade

You wince from your love and the growing stain
Made from the oil of the hair and the hand
Implemented flies from cheap willing grain
Seeds from the gash and the pulsating gland.

You sleep...

Warm as saliva, cold as the token
Viscous and vicious as the snaking child...
A note sounds blue, thus you are woken
Two hands claw a face for freedom exiled.

You Wake...

Alone in old sheets of a quilten fold
Hiding from the sun and its piercing hue
The bed is as warm as the world is cold
Filtered voices offer nothing else new.

Nothing is the word for the world outside
of its prospects for yourself it outlines
No reason for the knot of sleep untied
to be walking amongst these insect kines

A nation of drones with a bar code brand
Walking on rails behind their hero whole
Is this the cause for which you rise and stand?
Or is a hoarded sleep your only goal?

You walk...

You move between rooms of filth and gloating
taking your leave by a misshapen door
Babbage Batch Dolls shift as plastic floating
The horizon conceals a multitude more.

Everything is broken, everything is cold
Your heart is emptiness in the first degree
Cigarettes and hair are all your hands hold
A drone shouts 'hell'... You are forced to agree.

Your kidneys still ache from last night's action
All feelings drowned in an ethanol pool
Memories swim through the stupefaction
Chlorinated tears resurrect a ghoul.

You remember...

That smiling face that turns your hate to velvet
Those words that change your ice to heated glow
Images of iris, cornea, pupil and reflected light
That mouth...

That mouth that failed to utter correct answers

That mouth that failed

The ethanol flowed...

Everything is broken, everything is cold
Your heart is emptiness in the first degree
Cigarettes and hair are all your hands hold
Alive and walking, a felo de se.