P.E.R.L.
Thieving daylight stole my sleep, purloined
the dust and bones of dreams,
conjoined with sinking cold and deep, unleashed
repellent buck shot beams.
A light that beat on life condensed, lashed
by the croak of turncoat tongues,
smashed grief in fragments thus dispensed, congestion
of the tar pit lungs.
In sorry womb beneath the sheets, breathed
the brimstone of the night,
bereaved and clutching in the pleats, adrift
in seas of grey and white.
And pencil shafts prised at the cracks, blind
and grilling this and that,
find pupil equal, to light reacts, or
glazed, dilated and utterly flat.
This loving thing is sometimes grim, infused
with barbs of what might be,
confused, not knowing this of she, how her
eyes react when seeing me?
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