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