Monday, October 16, 2006

Early Morning.

The dream died with the morning’s shout,
my opened eyes just scanned the void,
then a voice asked,
“Were you so annoyed by all the little scratches?”

It was the constant clicks of latches,
the sulphurous choke of striking matches,
and leprous light through grey web curtains
that brought this scene to a close.
No appreciative applause
(just scratching dogs behind closed doors)
as I stumbled from the fourth floor flat.

I noticed ‘welcome’ woven in the mat
as the front door spat me out.

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