Rail, tracks, interrupted delight.
Dawn, a constant drunk, waving to move modernism.
Purple slumber nights, the mind strokes windows, head in rags.
Stumbled sky, hanging and occupying figures that push plague.
Condensation outside hugged in damaged and breathless clots.
Close scenes depressing taste, wake Bonaparte, incandescent seagulls are screaming as they fly, scattered, singing dreams.
Interrupting the closing of yesterday, hoping soul-bruise rates sit low tonight.
Danger plays, paths, fields, bedsheets, house.
Strange death amusements meet tender eyelids.
Numbing the pipedream special, the destination freshly yellow and late,
Colour pretty and clear.