Collecting pebbles to sink in
                   to my dreams.

I plunge a big rock in so that I
may slumber
         that while longer.

Even my dreams are tired tonight..
                                               *ZZZzzzz.....

I'm clouded within the vapor
of droplets that collect
                   in my lungs
to verse a drowning motion
                               that others swim upon

I die in within the moments that are coalescing
                                                          inward­s between
                                                   a fraction of  breath,
and I revive to expel the moments my
consciousness that fled to oblivion.

Welcome to the bereavement of my
                            wordings decaying
to nothingness before your eyes/.
Translate them before they
are inert, and are the
                          voice
                           of the
                                dead.
No longer dead and unnavigable in verse.

I'm three years old,
        my mummy asks me?

"What ya wanna be when ya grow up,

"A serial killer mummy,

After that she hide the knifes?

[Puzzlement] covered my face, now that's
a big word for someone who's three, spell
check if you want to see.....

"Baby you ok?

[Puzzlement,] "I know go me. She looked
as I did was this look was it somewhat
[contagious] "I know I'm three,

"Yes mummy I'm a cereal killer. I plunge
my spoon in to my breakfast till it seeps
milk then when I've finished I bury it.

"Bury it, yes in the bin mummy there
remains rot and make fertilizer.
"My mummy looked relived,

But I didn't tell her I bury them in the garden,
in the little black bags in the flower bed.
Decaying cereal feeding the flowers nourishment.

My words are vocalizations of what is
cognitive reverberation upon my thoughts.
They are vapours of what was unintelligible
upon the surface, but sank to deeper reflections.

When they spilt on the white from inexistence
to my voice in simplistic vocalization of verse.
Then what collected in rendition collected forth.

Listen to my voice, now you are reading these
last vocal mentions not in yours but the perceiving
of what my voice resonates between. From thought
to paper welcome to my words in my echo of my voice.

Running in a field of wild flowers,
                                               she sees her mother
looking happy in the distance. As footsteps take
little motions palms gliding on long grass.

Wild flowers spill across the field like a
                                                            paintbrush
wove them in to a certain place.
Gleefully she picks a handful to give to her
                                                    mummy with smiles.

They wander home, petals falling behind.
    
             "Mummy do you know why petals fall?
                                  
Smiling at such an inquisitive question she answers.
            
     "Yes darling because we picked them from the ground
no longer getting there substance they slowly fade.

"Mummy no,
                   "Its because we took them from there family,
"And each petal that falls is a sorrow for those left behind.

The mother walks on, tears caressing her cheeks, she wipes them
away so her little petal can not see. Holding her hand tightly,
never wanting her to be plucked from her field of loving care.