Cathedral spires reflect
éclatant drops of fire,
lingering lovingly above
the damp grass which is my cradle.

A sodden cigarette
caresses the chapped rim
of my mouth, whilst
vagabonds search through
wavering sacks of *******.

We feign eloquence as
gnomes question
multi-coloured scars on
a once bland wall.

And first-ladies laugh
at me, from the dark
mirror who viciously consumes me.

A mosaic carpet shifts
like a slug sleeping in salt,
while my expectant eyes
fixate upon strangers whom
I know well.

The clock no longer knows
the time as the sun
rises backwards over wet machinery,
and we smile through
the thick haze which
suffocates sanity.