A Midnight Rush

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;