Saturday, February 4, 2012

“Anaconda” © Mike Absalom January 7th

On the other side,
in the deadness of night,
the darktime stories always
with the discovery of a

I open my eyes and discover my
own corpse
lying on a red sheet,
and yellow sunlight is spilling
down the wall like breakfast.
Must I always be late for the

Too much bottle!
It is hard to go to bed
and so I was up till the grey
part of the morning trying to make it softer,
but with only moderate
unless you count visions as a
soft option.

I am accompanied late at
night by old versions of me,
lonely old wraiths looking
for satisfaction,
and it seems any satisfaction
will do.
What do they want satisfied?
I am not yet prepared to ask.

I walked the house and felt
the velvet curtain of night
touch my unclothed body like
an impertinent cat.
Shadows brushed me and tried
to enter,
but I am not unskilled in
making myself impermeable.

These others are after all just
the spent echoes of earlier ones
but in my darkness they jostle
to take solid shape
and occupy space that is
rightfully mine.

However, thanks to your
I am not without compassion.
I reach into the darkness,
hoping something soft to stroke is there,
and not a blackberry bush or
a stoat
or an anaconda.

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