Sooner or later

you find yourself in one room

just one.

In the middle of the morning where the moon never sets:

it’s not perdition

You think you’ve scaled a gloomy height,

And you’re waiting on a mystery beauty

No you don’t need a friend

a hundred thousand, they’ve done it all before,

They lifted kings upside down, rose up out of craters, shook down God

it’s that sparkling fat chance amidst the hour of rapid eye movement

Turn bad to good, they say, emotive as a breeze-block

Dream better somethings up, reach backwards to someone that felt.

Well it’s your problem

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2014