as though the quilt was a sea monster
he pulls up his feet in sleep, attempting escape
a strange air enters him
he dreams of his ex-wife
he whimpers and thrashes
some chemical is missing, some neuro-transmission
that prevents men from acting
their dreams
he wakes suddenly with a broken toe
all of the imagery draining out of him
like a party of drunken boys
ripped from a ruptured airliner
their sad songs failing
as they fall
clutching at each other
one of them shouting finally
a hundred metres before they land
heck of a party boys
I'm buying the first round in Hell
oomph
eighteen small depressions in a field
near Blackburn Lancashire
.
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