seldom sleep
and the moon pivots
being bellowed at
by an estuary breeze
taking with it the rotting
seaweed and the noise
from shrunken bells
and the scarce who wake
have too much caffeine rooted
too much velocity,
and tho’ the lids want to fall
the city cells are on so
much voltage
and the trees have paused
like disfigurement
like midair grimaces
see the faces pulled
between them, snarled
because woken
there’s an ease of foxes
sleek as knives patrolling,
a silhouetted
creature crouched
a hairnet of weather
groomed leaves
a slow gate on it’s hinges
barely murmurs, a scowl
of cats eye one another’s
cruelty, there is a drift of
silences between rustling
fingers and dark appendages
and still time is further than
i want it to be, nourishing
itself quicker when ignored,
and the creaks like a house
muttering for quiet repeats,
and still the village of what i am
refuses sleep