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A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As  radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.

Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in

Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first ***    
plenty of time            plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds

A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.

Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.

As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
               Un angle vole                                                          un angle vole.

Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
         Humber - Fisher - German bight
               Thames - Dover - Wight.

Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words

North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.

Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.

The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.

Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.

Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.  

Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
            But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
        
                  I
                     have
                                yet
                                       to
                                            meet

I can hear him,
Hear him long 'fore I sees him.
Can hear him stompin
Stompin 'cross the ceilin
Of the earth like he mad at the world.
Mad at us for just bein.
Rain Man stomp so hard
he send the wind runnin
runnin hard runnin mad
kickin up dust an' pickin up leaves
Screamin at the top of her lungs
Pull down ya garments
and shut up yo hatches.
Call in yo chillun's 'cause
Lawd I declare
The Rain Man comin'
 
I can see him now
sees him off in the distance.
Talltoweringhulk of man.
Skin real dark.
But not that ******-baby
kinda dark what look
like somethin dead been
drug through the mudndipped in tar
with fat uncooked sausages for lips
like they got in the picture shows
an shoppin books.
Nah this that pretty kinda dark
Night sky kinda dark
dark so deep
ya get lost in it and find God there too.
Yeah, he got that pretty dark.
But he got them eyes,
them pretty white eyes
sparkle so hard like God
plucked the North star and the Pointer star
right out the sky and stuckem
in his face.
His hair, thick black coils of hair,
grow like kudzu stretch down
his back and move in the wind like
snakes with minds of they own.
He turns his head backnforth
sendin them vines
flyin
stretchin stretchin to forever till
CRACK
they snap back,
snap back so hard they like to
split the air with fury
that shook me to my soul.
 
I can feel him now
feel him as he wraps me in his arms,
what seem to be made of steel, and
pull me into that chest made of
mountain stones firm
firm like the earth I ain't no
longer standin on 'cause he
picked me up clear off my feet
no connection to the ground but him.
I wrap my birdy lil arms round
his neck and bury my
bony lil fingers in the
layers of his hair.
I can feel the warmth
roll offa him in waves
waves like the ones cornfields
make when they kissed by wind,
or maybe even waves like them from
the sea as they reach out for land to
save them from drownin just 'fore
they fall back into the sea, I just
know that he feel good.
 
I can smell him,
smell every bit of him as I
bury my head deeper into his neck.
He smell warm like the earth,
like red clay smell after he and sun
done made out all day, warm like a
man smell after he done spent
all day hunch backed starin
at the earth tryna trick her to
give'm just a lil somethin to eat.
Even his clothes, holey rags they are,
smell like smoke but not that
cold angry smoke what come from the
factory, not that black stuff what
puff itself up to block out the sun
like he mad at her for shinin so pretty.
Nah, his smoke smell like that soft
gray smoke that drifts lazy-like from
daddy's shed after he done bled a
pig for us to eat during winter.
His smokeyness smell like earth.
 
I can taste him
taste every memory of him
as I kiss blindly startin at his
neck workin my way up
tryna find his mouth.
Every inch of his face taste sweet,
like the caramel candies them old
ladies at church carry round in they bags,
made even sweeter by the salty tang
of each bead of sweat as it tumbles
down his face and drips on my blouse
stainin the pretty lil flowers.
All I know is he taste good.