Tuesday, 19 August 2014


Sometimes I wake to broken skies
and in those darkening patterns live
the brokering of thought unhinged:

Chafing ciphers of cruel design
of bird, beast or wicked tree
all manner of brute-creation confine
in caged virtuality of mind's blight.

Chained those errant thoughts must be
to some false relation within bloat lies
dull murmur on tapestries' fringe
bright cognition a corona to plight


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