At a desk, coffee sachets rest. Long-life milk harbours white dreams of expiry. Shuffling in his forgetful nest a grey man blinks at the intruding light.
Americo, do you remember your antique power, that opened like a rose on the walls of Hiroshima?
I guess starlight doesn’t work The moon is shattered And the stars die out Forty-five minutes of sleep Is how much I get each night Never a minute more or minute less