Monday, 8 October 2012

The Sleeper

A slow-me-down rush
of being knackered
assails him
and clams up
the gift o' his gab

becomes like a prize
fighter caught cold
in the ring
too dazed to
throw so much as a jab

and collapses to canvas
soft-focus, so arty
so derelict but
delicate too

like an angel gone
awry at that old
Christmas party
heavenly hobo right
out of the blue

and after his
mind mounts
the pillowcase
and gallops off
after adventure and

above the covers is
left a stand-in
bust of his face
living marble
but still breathing.

No comments:

Post a Comment