From the depths of my duvet sleep
Your voice commands;
An arrow through the distance between
You and I, it made me
Take up the shutters
Of my insular shell
To welcome the night,
Lit by a mere halogen moon,
No Goddess for me to praise-
Only thick wraiths of choking smoke,
Absorbing what to you is a perfect orb
Of singular clarity
The trees are
turn table's slow
on the window
"let me in, my
Forget about the summer
sun who wilt your
as the morning chill
I wake consumed by
I know each day
is further now
I don't want to be in love anymore.
Remember the first time
I told you that I adore you?
And you said it made your stomach feel strange,
in a good way I suppose.
I get that same
pleasantly strange feeling
when I think of touching you,
or you touching me.
Or even just lying within arms length of of each other.
in my stomach
and leaves a tingling trail
throughout my hips.
Sometimes retreating to my lips.
Sometimes I pretend
we're only separated by the duvet on my bed
instead of the Atlantic ocean.
Do you ever want to crawl inside a duvet like a tomb.
To have the warmth pressing in on all sides,
Like the hug you always crave
but never receive.
Blocking out the outside world.
Like a temporary death.
Trying on your coffin as you would try on a dress.
You slow your breathing
and squeeze your eyes shut so tight, you’re seeing spots.
Can literally feel time moving around you,
Can hear the sound of rain pattering on the roof
and it’s like the heavens are falling.
You’re in your own world
In your own galaxy.
Far away from the body lying on its bed wrapped in its duvet.
Distanced from the problems,
and the beating of your own heart.
Craving for this to never end,
And maybe it doesn’t have to.
Vanaand vou ek my snoesig toe
in die soet-droom blou lug
iewers tussen die maan en die sterre...
en as die liggies my pla
trek ek weer, soos kleintyd, die duvet oor my kop
en verbeel myself dat
en jou honger hande
nie in die werled bestaan nie!!
Ek kruip dan in die sagte plekkies
van ontstuimige oseane...
so tussen deur die nate van
die brekende golwe...
en le terug as die trek
van moegheid my kom haal...
en terwyl die vloeiende satyn
my wange streel...
maak ek my oe toe
It was a kid-glove orange, a
leaf, or a Dancy tangerine
falling from the tree. I didn't
see it. I was watching a dance
of anger on TV while learning
to swing in a way that left me
needing my forlorn hope. The
change did not occur. Outside,
a drunk driver wearing zipper-skin
orange driving gloves swerved
sharply and hit my old, gnarled
tree during imbuing my hearing
with sexual innuendo. He could
not escape his awkward accident.
Much later, I heard that he had
suffered from Saint Vitus's dance.
In time, no one was able to heal
the wounds of my soul. I wanted
this Duvet day to end quickly.
Ease me slow into the day
wake me gently from my sleep
if you must steal me from my dreams
the highlights let me keep
Don't wake with a noisy bell
or unexpected calls
wake me with the sound of rain
as on the metal roof it falls
Rouse me with sounds of nature
rising winds before the storm
give me time to close the shutters
before returning to the warm
If you could do this in the morning
and wake me in a gentle way
For once I'd take the day off
and in my bed I'd stay.
She shuffles and scuttles quickly along
beating her way,
through the Christmas throng
The north wind cutting her mottled face
But shes not part of the Christmas race
For things not needed, luxurious, unwise
Her mind fixed on the price and size
Of a winter coat in that Oxfam place,
she prays its still there, she quickens her pace.
The bell dings-a-ling as she opens the door
Not feeling her legs so tird and sore
Like a long lost friend it waits on the rail
she thanks her god its still for sale.
Her hurry finished, her purchase complete
She focuses now on something to eat
To the corner shop she makes to go
happier now , her step is slow
bread and milk ,this and that
two tins of food for her little cat
Home at last her mission complete
She models her coat and warms her feet
She cuddles her cat and locks her door
She makes their tea and she cuddles him more
She dims the light her prayers are said
She thanks her god for her winter coat
that doubles as a duvet for her bed.
Come up to me
As I lay face up on the bed
It’s probably just momentary,
The morning light is blinding but I’m
Not going anywhere for a while.
These covers captivate, they capture.
Wake me, break me, I’d rather scream than lay
In silence on minute longer.
I can’t feel anything under all these layers,
I’m lying here, Just lying here-
I’m always lying here,
What am I doing, wasting my life under these sheets, duvets, and quilts?
And what the fuck is a duvet anyway?
I’m just under the surface of something.
I can’t place it.
It’d be nice to know what I”m drowning in, but that’s
Just my luck.
Can’t I just get up, instead of
bleeding for one more line?
No I can’t. Ask me why,
Then it will be both of us in silence.
I suppose it’s
the obvious reason.
There’s no motivation out there
In the big world full of bombs and fucking Abercrombie.
What possibly keeps all of these people
Give me one good thing out there,
And a minute to tear it down.
Everything is getting teared down.
So my bed is
The more favorable option.
The fleece smells like fabric softener and
There’s a far greater chance of
Something positive coming from my dreams
Than from the next election,
To die, to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream.
As if I would be so lucky.
I see only blackness.
I recently read that in order to flourish,
one must build a proper foundation.
So, I painted my bathroom...
and I'm still not peaceful.
I buy things, and arrange them in a certain way.
I work for six days, and sleep on the seventh,
and since I can't bring these things into heaven,
I should just burn it all down and face the elements.
Know what I'm sayin'?
I don't see much of a point to any of this.
Buying shit and keeping it.
Dusting it, adjusting it.
Fixing it, fussing it.
I'd be far more productive if I were free of these luxuries
that we all hold so dearly.
I'd see more clearly with nothing interfering.