…

up again all nightmare
but the sun’s a sausage

sleepless is a friend of mine
we play musical chairs

with the village weasels
& pigs who sleep all day

while we walk the yawnings
of another morn’s daze

hazy’s my middle name
see the swifts gathering

up & in the ash tree
by the railway crossing

eyes & dotted t’s, please
fingers clutching something

other than the nothing
burger of the bugger’s

sods instead of oddness
but this is not normalzzz

so we roger not – no
portals call instead so

climb another anthill
me, myself & ivy

scribble in a notebook
float beyond the botlings

…

( author notes )

yes, the swifts were gathering
this morning, dear reader

well over a hundred
darting ninja stylee

they must be getting ready
to go back to africa

they were swirling around
almost like a murmuration

i’ve never seen anything
quite like it – no

then back into the same
ash tree they sat

top that for an auspicious marvel

…