I am not drowning in waves of delta sleep,
or pulling myself through the streets
still half-asleep and begging for jumpers
I am not catholic dreaming.
Are you crossed to your bed?
I try to sacrifice myself to the owls,
and the moths,
while I wait without grace
for the world to fade into espresso gold,
and bring my wife back from the terrors
– Aaron Kent
You commence with what you are not.
This tells me things about you.
Looking at the options you must be pretty relieved.
You won’t get more than one crowd-catch in a lifetime, Aaron.
Don’t spill your pint for half the world to see.
To think we could have met in a pub for Guinness and chatted
cricket or even rugby and never have known the other
had compacted things to say about delicate subjects when alone.
I know what it is you’re talking about.
Like you, I get stuff done.
A really good way to bring your wife back is the change of season.
Trouble is, hate to break it, I don’t want to piss all over your Spring,
you seem a giver of alms who wouldn’t deserve it, but cherry blossoms
are laced with something nasty this year. Is there an emoji for that?
Sometimes I am crossed to my bed but for different reasons.
I know what it is you are talking about, we’ve all got holes in our buckets,
Aaron, it’s all right, fire away, tell us what you mean to say.
I hope my next response comes clean as this.
I also writhe inside a claw of sadness.
– Daniel Roy Connelly