Gargantuan wind pierces the seams 

Where my dreams wait on the ledge

Reason is not ready yet,

ReadyBrek is the best but I’m fed up.

So Soliliquy

5:21 and it’s a painting outside;

The tone set by them heartless trees.

Feverish Navy tatters the bazaar clouds

beset with umber-charcoal projections.

The news says a flurry must hurry inside!

QUIETLY I LIGHT A CIGARETTE.

And there was me hoping,

for a cornsilk sunrise, 

to wish me well in my endeavours.

The washing line poses, succombed to my client,

I suppose there’s a science 

To seeing things being clever.

It’s that kingdom of electric ocean blue 

that has got me thinking,

of the droplet hitting the bin lid in synchrony; 

Nature devising the divine route.

The last person to wear my sovereign

Killed themselves like a coward you may know.

 The onslaught of trauma led to this golden thing,

That glows like you wouldn’t believe.

She never wore it, no, it was too big,

But even then she wouldn’t

Not with them blackened dreams

Those ashen-vivid screams, she couldn’t.

But I, to no glorification of myself

Fight my sleep, like the warrior on the treasure,

Slays the dragon, and i shan’t imagine

The blackness and the smoke emission.

The pleasure of suicide?

The black-carbon dreams of loved ones.

I was shining, I was dying;

Waning starlight in a waiting room,

Was she dying, she wasn’t shining.

 But then what was she waiting for?

I was gliding, I was flying;

Jesus took me for him to groom.

Was he lying, He wasn’t sighing,

But then what was he waiting for?

I was collating,  I was deciphering;

Mania led me like the moon.

Was it crying, was it smiling,

Shall I follow the man at the door?

A cathedral of lightning fashions its clash 

And its turrets rank out of the sulking sea, 

(That loves being known as the King of Castles),

Which whipped, swallows its pride.

It ruins days, decisions. Precise excisions 

Rattled in to the city of the beach, that hides.

But you ruined my night, my ancient temple.

The tide goes on to allure the lives 

That saw not its dissolution,

its cowardice under forgotten terrorism.

But I’m left standing there, my bubble burst,

holding up almost comically that that I am left:

A spectator, a spectacle, a speaker.