like a torn and discarded mattress
another spring has sprung
mildew and mould glimmer
neath the garlic clove-sclera sun..
weeds lean towards the waiting moonrise
a broken fence snaps beneath me like crispbread
but in the sweeping fuzz the traffic blinks
firefly..
and..
and so what was it the singer in my dream..
what was it the singer in my dream said..
yes..i recall she whispered
this is not only the dream it is
you must remember what i say
why do you think you are here
here sat with me
and listening so earnestly and intently
and so at home in this place..
so softly her message rang out nightingale
and i felt like the honoured guest
remember this..remember this
and if you can remember this
not the words
only this..
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