a shadowed poem becomes less
first light shares itself
and the wind that enjoys
slapping fences and dust-
bin lids breathless now as it
collapses, head bowed
grasses can sleep now
acquiring eerie stillness
laments are being thrown
from untidy nests, foxes
sleek as copper return from
their blood baths their
butchered outfits their
stealth night’s out, a
cockerel’s head in a mouth
fadeables are doing what
they are best at and fade
well, courtships in the dark
return to their marital lairs,
some are filled with stars
one has a phantom to pass
on, and daylight scratches upwards
gulls are petty arguments
there are pretty deaths in
the assortment of hedges,
pearlers are decadent and
hang in dribbles, handfuls of
in their eight legged garden palaces
of lace, a troubled moth separates
rehearsals of birds climb
into airiness, climb up towards
the daffodil painted sun, and
all i can do, is to wake from
these cotton theatres of this
duvet grave, the dream’s
fastening loses its odd hands
all
foxglove towns are
lay-by intriguing -
earnt towers of bees
and leaning un-rung bells
fatigues of hands, gnarlments
of crowns, armfuls are leading their boughs
thoughts typewriter fast leaving
comments in the breadths of the mind
a constellation once where the dew
hotel sung, it ran blazes thru hair and -
thru stem, a pilot knows his honey
and parlours it well, it grew into self
shouted stabbed stars out, i labelled
each door every time each swelled
i dream in the layers of fox stealth
furnace myself all colours, odour’s stale wealth
drift them in eclipses of bliss, a nearby
man folds his gaze into someone else
a graft of birds simply overhead
where the wires try to confiscate
the deeps are blues and are seldom
asked to be lit, leaves for sighs and the solace of-
it all