Mute cacophony of ideas
Dreams which end, perplex & roll around to play games in the sand.
A water leaked.
Late night issues & forgotten themes.
Who cares but nobody for the dreams which died.
Incest gave way to passion & planets spun.
Heavy hand broken on repeat.
Can u understand the criteria of the late night sleep?
Her clothes were torn.
Knees showing in pads of white,
Distance drowning in some foreign air,
She rued the injustice of other people’s wars.
& all the time I coloured text upon the wall.
Final hours stay alert in orange flames of death.
Crimson cigarettes pass from lips.
Youth was a name I knew before.
Braided hair lost its appeal.
I cried when the dog in space died this afternoon.
& Jane was a stranger sold as slave.
Was sex always supposed to be free?
Money buries the dead in sheets of grey
& pauses wait patiently for each man to fill.
What would you say if you were here?
Would you talk to god about the football scores?
Or ask him if you could seduce the neighbour’s daughter?
I live on an island of solitude
Where no respect is given for deeds.
I suppose you should sleep now huh?
Bed yourself in clouds of work.
Could you think of me as I alert the police & ramble fine mosaic words across the sky,
Silent dreams of sex & angels.
Time to plug in the blanket of love & hope & peace.
I wonder if you will say how clever I am?
Is it not good that I can count the stars upon the back of my head?
Girls or drugs or both I ask
& then step forward to illustrate the aim of all escape.
Goodnight or morn & salutations.
Robot greased & sleep ensues.
A late night fest.
I take my rest
& bid all thee farewell my friends.
~ I suppose sleep is a valid concoction. I should try it sometime!
© ed simkins