Coffee at 1.30am is,
supposedly, not a good thing
if you want a good nights sleep;
but since I’m not having
a good nights sleep,
there is no harm
in coffee at 1.30 am.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
Coffee at 1.30am is,
supposedly, not a good thing
if you want a good nights sleep;
but since I’m not having
a good nights sleep,
there is no harm
in coffee at 1.30 am.
We the marketeers
are here every Saturday,
rain, shine or wind.
We know our place,
the rules, the etiquette,
it is the sale that we chase.
I have lost count of the days
and the nights are all one colour;
without a dream a dreamer
cannot sleep,
wakes to a wilderness,
an endless desert.
She moulds her hands
over neck and shoulders
as they stand in line
for a few minutes of
a soft touch
that holds up time
and eases the mind.
A tall forest stands, blocking the sun,
quenches its thirst from the rain
and the earth, conducts the storm
and the wind with moving of leaf
and limb until the fire moves in.
I have lost count of the days
and the nights are all one colour;
without a dream a dreamer
cannot sleep,
wakes to a wilderness,
an endless desert.
A tall forest stands, blocking the sun,
quenches its thirst from the rain
and the earth, conducts the storm
and the wind with moving of leaf
and limb until the fire moves in.
He is laying on his back
in a mown field of grass
he is looking up at a drone
looking down on him back
he has this urge to laugh
he thinks he is alone.
He wanders these neighbourhood streets
entirely alone now,
he nods to all the strangers
he once knew,
back when he knew
who he was himself.
Since they took away his drivers licence
he has nowhere to go,
no hope of ever driving
the familiar highway
of promise and solitude,
no escape from the
incessant demands
of domestic insanity.