I sleep two time zones,
wake in the small day between.
Darkness on the face.
No rest on the seventh.
The dustbin lid cracks down
on kitchen dreams.
Ashtray speaks
with gently-hammered elbows
and knees.
Only a blue-lit kettle
shines through the deep.
Everything is transformed,
microwaveable.
I thank the god of oven mitts;
my fingers free to make
evening and morning,
and it is good.
At last we sleep
on the crumb-strewn floor.
Evolved. Immortal.
Creation under my nails.
Creation under my nails.
tk/January 2015
Brilliantly delivered by R.A.D. Stainforth...
Brilliantly delivered by R.A.D. Stainforth...
