Sleeping Angels

Should I crawl Craven with some filigree foot Hidden forever In the shadows of my own Innocuous phantom To spend the hours Amongst the esteem of cement and parchment Courting the grains of sand Clinging to the befuddled moss And wondering on the prisms caught In dew drops The dust I think This nighttime reminds me of Once the stars were made of And but for dreams Would scratch onto rock All that I was Every smile Every love Nailed into this crumbling stalwart And crunched on teeth The stones of its food Who The light flickers Who As nothing answers Save the rattle flicker Of celluloid theatre And on the image depicted This vast and written me In all those technicolours Of a dream Who There on this silver pixel screen It was a life Now etched in thumbnail scrapes Counting the seconds in The years The days And but for dreams Would I be scratched into brick All that made me That which I was Every smile Every love Nailed with the sleepwalking palms Stalwart crunching ever on the tooth The stones Of its food Who Who Who there tiptoed through the ranks Of sleeping angels