He dreams the rain
on the windows.  There
are girls in the walls,
bones of a small animal
beneath the bed.  In
these dreams he's always
dead or half dead,  propped
against the door like an old
saw.  He believes he may
be waiting for something or
someone , a ghost or a bone
man, or a woman with a cat's
smile carrying a crystal
decanter or crystal meths.
His hands are very soft,
the bones may have gone.
His feet though are hard
& tough,  like rock or metal
or the back of the door he
leans against.  Sometimes it
seems to him he may no longer
be quite human,  no longer quite
of this world,  or the world
next door for that matter.
Sometimes he's not even sure
he's here at all

I ***** his beats
& beat his bones
Blueward he turned
before he went
Blueward backwards
bendy into the morning
where grass & ****
run brown to sun

You say you are happy
How can that be?
You work all the time
No time for you and me
Let’s take a holiday
A weekend by the bay
Stroll by moonlight
Sleep away the day
After you will thank me
For setting you free
From this toil and sadness
And bringing you back to me

Night shifts leave me dried, tired, sun deprived.
Daytime – awake yet unable to bask in the summer sun.
The sun’s first sighting signals my bedtime.
In the daylight hours, my sleeping soul stirs alone.

My midnight oil warms those sleeping in bed;
Seduced by pleasant peacefulness and dreams.
I toil at night when the world is dead,
And spirits guard my early grave patiently.

Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.