ten n' two past three,
my mind slips from it's
domesticated fetters,
flys free into the star stitched night..

wandering, effortlessly
to climes of restless insanity
and step-stoning away from
garnered life.....

....it finds the scurrying creatures,
hovel featured and scrawny
eyes ......beggars @ the feast.
tired of the hide-away life...
wanting just a moment's grace.... a smidge of light...
pickpockets of slumber's ease.
abram, palliard, mendicant.
all asking for alms to ease their plight...

all.... wanting succour in the dead of night.
.....yet, at this time,as the darklight,
thinks and hopes desperately for dawn...

....i find my mind poor.. ....careworn and a cupboard bare and paltry...

...so again my night's thoughts . ..wend their way home hungry and sad....
black and grey wraiths,
of thoughts...... i never really had....