January 28, 2008

It looks like blood,

but it’s red wine,

that slash across the wall.

A faded scarlet sash.


I piss

and shake my head

to chase away the nightmares.

What happened in the night


to send me hurtling,


in the throes of visions,





It is so different,

there is no control.


Involved in a private show

and unable to leave.

There is a switch-off,

but I cannot throw it.


At some point,

I am beached,

ejected by the raging miasma,


left gasping for air

and fresh water.

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