Rest – a poem



A vice – circular,

cold and hard –

imprisons the soft tick

of time lost —


Calm intent:

words written,

successes assured,


flung in the moonlight.


Fairy lights twinkle like stars.


Night sits, achatter,

a plotting child

disabling dreams.


The bedside companion

of tomorrow’s invalid

exposes a breast

and feeds in the dark.


Still belongings

hung by the neck

haunt on hooks,

dressed gowns

of dangling judgement.


Sleep in maladies till dawn plays.


Absolve me, cool cushioning;

remove me, temporarily

from crabbed clutches –

thoughts’ iterant claws

clacking, clacking, clacking.


Blind me, bat of darkness;

swoop, swipe, spread

vacancy through me

until veins are vacuum

tunnels to a desolate cave.


But groundhog trains gather

carriages plucked from mid-air,

barrelling fully-loaded

the passenger’s weight

into the disappointment of dawn.




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