Tuesday

i am stood in
that world of sheets
within the rotary,
billowing walls
whipped,
miles from anywhere,
my hillside.

and streams come
off me. prism
white and split-
colour noisy as a
roundabout. where
you been? he asks
and i am never sure,
not entire

absolute sure. see this
bit, i shift my hair
over an ear. see this
dream i made, it's
wonderful isn't it?
the babble hits the
atmosphere and
bends,

pummels its way
to the outer. away
from the open graph
where the entire universe
is the sleep-drool from
my mouth,
the way you see me
hard as a replica.

my hydraulics keep me
in pulse, govern
with an iron grip say
go! and go
i must. i hit the
atmosphere,
body shredding to
filament. i am a comet
of want, a tiny death.

dat rosa mel apibus
you say,
one trouser leg rolled,
a cross of twigs in one,
a thorny mouth
in your hand of
lucid dreams. help me
to help you! i could love
you if i learnt how.