when dawn came home and slept one winter, still
my carriage drawn by horse flies, dressed
as mad men walking grapes as dead as night, until
the bolting doors layed heavy soil on easters eggs
no smaller than one freckle on the hen who fathered time
this is my day to rest and rust and bark
to hark the herald\'s angelfish, to sting
to catch one stare from my windows hidden eye;
ever since, when came and went, have I
mourned loveless like a scared crow drunk as blood
flooded Thames, shrunk beneath
the grave that snakes it\'s horn and blows
like tempers caught, twisting with the ragged smoke
swimming in this dust bowl sucking dill;
my eulogy of blaspheme on a holy spirit verse
as the hidden distance gathers near
on winds as strong as rain is tall
as dull as gulls, as dull as bronze
where culls my badger legs in a straw-boned trap;
when dawn came home and slept one winter, still
a still hour; a dragnet draped and shaped as comice pears
still I sleep with the days nocturnal nicotine
and wake with the midnight rush that paints my lungs
bung one penny in my plant pot as my craving for the touch
it is only when I sleep will I,
admit to loving what I pretend I hate so much;