The Ceiling at Four in the Morning. Looking at.

Bedroom swarms shifting air
Suffocating as bones crushed in lotus feet,
The ties that bind; tides that break.
 
An atlas on the belly of my dreams
Adventures in the skin trade.
Skin is a compass to start
Fevered fingers chart my journey:
North by north-west facing east, waiting
The departure at the grinding of gate,
When, finally, the blue moon is more than
An ambulance and screaming lights.
 
Vipers o’ verbs stall in my throat
Vivisection of my well versed scars,
Eavesdropping on the morning stillness
Silence speaks thru teeth clenched.  
In the way tree stands to the sky
I seek your touch on empty branches.
 
Hawthorn berry heart of tawny owl
Tourniquets bough to keep nature alive.
We live like this: the man, the woman
Sleepwalking closer to eternal mountains,
Valleys are measured in our love verse.
 
A train charters the chapters of insomniacs
Delivering commuters to towns bookended
By the here & now of (forever) yesterday.

Remembering the old drunk who heaved
‘Jesus blood never failed me yet.’
The sidereal alarm clock
Sequins Sirius with chimes  
From The Titanic bell.  

The window rehearses return of the dawn
Ballerina rain alights, stage fright in the
Enchanted circle, as actors on verge of
Breaking it all down in syllables of two-step dance.  
In the interval of our wording
Eye curtains draw closed
By crushed velvet >
Soft symphony of rain and glass.    
 
Ceiling spins skeins of all the colours
That were, are, will be - it is.
Could our nest change colours through all seasons?
 
Someone is building a bridge of  
Mice snapped in night traps.  
Somewhere over the bleached rainbow:
Barbiturates are delaying the morning
Smashed whisky bottles are painting life still  
Self Help books lie piss stained on brothel floors.
 
Let the sunshine reign down on me
Let it blister, burn, bury the living:
Est cor meum tibi.
 
Talking to God in wandering dreams.
I clasp my hands between knees
Closest I get to praying.