crank hall

the waning moon sinks into my little poem here

gloria warm nocturne

the street is decorated like a play

all the troupes of actors jostle through the emptiness

the tents fluttering pennants heralding the crests of dragon and beast

the mountains around decked in flower and bloom

magnificent cloud flies like a slow arrow piercing the skies reality

the drum of yesterday still faint on the horizon

with everso sleepy eyes i regard oncoming darkening days

but tonight my cocoon holds me numbish warm

a light comes on

a door opens in a house

somebody stands there

my mind is pleasantly blank

except for this blurb which oozes out of my thoughts

this one broken thread derailed train of thought

i dont like the moving shadow says scarlet the human creature

outside the air has gone balmy

some bird still sings in the background

the purple glow of someones tv somewhere

a car drives off

a silvery blur on a quiet street

oh my quickening brain hastens for a feed

in the central block of darkness

yes……. a shadow moves …….

oh those white frangipanis their perfume rides the zephyr astride

my mind shivers in its box

everyone inside i hear a voice say in my heartless heart

its just an echo from a dawn

its just a dash down a wire

i shake my head

what was that?

the human creature laughs

i told you already! she says in a gurgling voice

so

i dont ask again