Rest – a poem



A vice – circular,

cold and hard

imprisons the soft tick

of time lost,

yawns tomorrow

I feel, she feels.

Animated, more

than the pound of rubber

falling exercised

onto tank tracks.


Calm intent; words written,

successes assured,

a fantasy

flung in the moonlight.


Fairy lights twinkle like stars.


Absolve me, cool cushioning;

remove me, temporarily

from tomorrow’s light.


Night sits, achatter,

a plotting child I cannot

roll away from

in sweet dreams,

the bedside support

of tomorrow’s invalid.


Sleep in maladies till dawn plays.


Still, belongings

snooze on hooks.

Crabbed claws of thought

run iterant:

clacking, clacking, clacking

at time.


Blind me, bat of darkness.

Swoop, swipe, spread

vacancy through me.


Bent vacuum air into groundhog trains

of – what?


Carriages plucked from mid-air,

barrelling fully-loaded

the passenger’s weight

into the disappointment of dawn.

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