Sleep: A dream poem

Violet flames hanging with pearls of rust and ginger
journey me to a slashed joie de vivre-less world
and when asleep, float, like a spider with legs torn out, through papered streets aflame
and where dead on a stone, or so I believe
I capture rancid cream in a sieve

And assisting tall men in brown hats and gloveless hands
I ride cock-a-hoop in a carriage
a carriage bizarre made of wood, frills and amber
and gun blasted with holes so large I can fit, like a wet finger in my mouth, my white fist all the way through.

My brain is squeezed, my senses defiled, I shout out your name for peace
when scenes change and when characters shrink
I mellow to the jolly lullaby sound
of a junior earthquake riding by.



Goodnight x