I, the particles of lost sleep
atoms created in dreams stolen from men
a red dress in a black and white flick,
the vision from a dead friend talking
through smoke candlestick,
arriving to whisper you that unfathomable end!
I, the watcher of the city
the floating rust from queen white chandeliers
fast wind of grated electricity,
Morphing into the corners of bedroom mirrors
an eye for collecting imagery,
a digitised iris for the states cavalier.
This poem is from a new collection I’m currently editing at the moment.