Darkness envelopes me like a thin grey blanket
Listen to sleeping body snores warm beside me
Imaginary ghosts emerge out of the shadows
Tomorrow’s plans become tonight’s mental list.

Twist and turn, heart beats fast, should sleep
Can’t sleep, get up, drink tea, read email, yawn
Email replies at three clears the decks, wide awake
Online yesterday’s Irish Times becomes today’s.

Skype “Hi” to friends on PST and office in Asia
In bed, read Robinson Crusoe, always meant to
Watch watch, almost five, two hours to breakfast
Sleep heavy eyes, day bright, 7am news, yawn.

Roses red
Champagne crisp
Dinner divine
Words whisper
Touch tender
Sheets satin
Bed blonde
Night noir
Passion purple.

So close, that we are drowning,
So close, that we are still in madness,
So close, that we are invisible in our love,
So close, that we are one 10000 miles apart,
So close, that we do not have to talk to know,
So close, that our hearts beat like one heart,
So close, that we dream the same dreams,
So close, that we breathe the same air,
So close, that we are one person.

Our love is like
A flower in sand,
But water is not
Enough, nor wine,
To make it bloom.
We need the pain,
Of blood and bone, for
Metamorphosis, from
Sand to soil, where
Love grows strong,
In passion through
The pain of living.

I am certain now that I am me and he and she
So I try to hide hoping you will not notice but
They say things                           They do things
To make you think              That make you ask
That he is crazy                      Is she really mad?
That they are not                    Then they are too
  But he is she too                             And they say
So when I take the                   I should take the
Pills, so they and he and she will all go away,
I will just be me again and you will not be as

Frightened of us.

Trying and failing in a wasteland of work
To get the space, to think and to live in the
Moment, which we are supposed to do,
If we are to be happy in this life, instead
Of the next, which becomes more likely,
As the trying fails and the failures mount.

Nothing is important enough to let this
Happen, and giving up is not going to work,
Unless you intend to spend you eternity,
With a hell of a racket from those harps
In the clouds, which will inevitably drive,
You madder than mad for ever and ever.

Failing to fail in your wasteland of life
You get the space, to think and live in the
Moment, which we are supposed to do,
And the prospect of a hell with harps,
Is replaced with moments that multiply,
To a love of this life instead of the next.

Every morning I swim up a vertical river,
Almost drowning, as night leans into
A clean new day, where thoughts
And plans crystallize in a foam
And spray, which isolates
Me from the world
Of people and
Places and
Problems.

I am reborn
Rejuvenated
And cleansed
Of a night that
Contaminated my
Now-clean body
With all my
Yesterdays
Erased