confessions are self-serving

Tag: dream

Woken By Your Boiler

I’m pulled up and out to the noise
by the fist of my chest,
bed clothes like tangled sculptures
in wet cement,

I flick my ankle like a cat’s tail
in the navy room and sigh

at the two inches of place
that separate me from you;

my aga,
your back fired iron plate,
your flank the primary school heater
I used to dare to grip
with little kiddie fingers that burned a seashell pink.

You’ve always thrown out heat
no matter what season,
position or pattern we sleep in,

and sensing me now your face
rises like moon over countryside,

blind and made fearful by dream,
with the pinched look of a baby abandoned,
reproachful and impatient for answers.

“It’s just the boiler” I whisper,
words unlikely you’ll remember.

A Conversation

I have a pack and a guitar and a coat and a bike

What do you have?

I have a pair of boots with a split in the sole and no rent to pay

I have a scarf that smells like my girl

I leave my laptop to go to the pisser in the pub, no one wants it

Because people are good

Good at knowing what’s worth stealing

You can take my boots but you can’t take my gold soul

I’d sell my soul for fool’s gold

You’re tired, and so am I, more fatigued than I’ve ever been

I need to find me a floor so’s I can dream a sad dream