the night cares                                                  
         and we are it's batteries
it licks us like a daring child                            
                 and the night avian raptors are tufted
  and their prey is energized              
  and the chase/escape scenario   is a burly-hurly
    flight night                                                  
and the trees push around the winds
and breath is the current of life        
and the furnaces tick down
and an unreal peeling                        
          of the church human bells
(calling the hour or the faithful to prayer)
 aids my constructive dreaming bleed
chimney awoke
the night licks me                                                  
                   like a daring child licking a battery
  but caring also                                      
                like a cat removing the amniotic sac
                 from it's newborn

blood                                                  
blood patter and splash                            
leads us         concrete toward
tracing back        til the scene        
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
   the violence     that must of cussed  
  between persons            
         in fear    fray    and inebriation

down the steps                                     
            my four year old child and I go          
the greasing bleed     in bronze putters  
growing and leadening
on stone labours

glowing citrus    the refrigeration
                          of the underpass
          ‘flips the bird'   at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination  
seasoned in deep   beading now cold
the broke up weapon                        
                   candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
    the neck its' hilt              
     and the main mud of the bleeding

the flies are the thing                                
                         th­at bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
     just eager for the vibration
      of train carriages gatling over our heads

i stopper any words i may have on the matter
  he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms                                   
                            procession of caged floodlights
      and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping   retching for the guttering

season heals season
- as the years faster pass -
are we mending ?