PRIEST HOLES AND MAGIC TREES

dragging out the bins
i experience dawns half light
    and
    wonder
    if
    its
promise means well
    or
is a tease of phantom gold
to get us from our beds of sex and dreams

        and
when up and gasping in the bathroom sink 
    i   
wonder
how
to
juggle
    the true beams and garbage vectors
        of life and sickness
        of bill-bondage
    and 
    the 
        difficult birth of creation
            even 
            too
the needs of aimless indian summer bees ?

    i
wonder
how 
to
keep the threads threaded
    and the google views inspired
        when 
    maintenance is the relentless unappreciated all ?

we're spoiled innocent reluctant and idiot-crawling
        down 
        an 
extended birth canal - facing screaming change
        with 
        feet still warm still safe
    i 
wonder 
what now 
    the tunnel is tired and we're wary of the brave doors
        all 
        searching for the cliche light
        and 
    simple Blyton adventure of priest holes and magic trees
with
our
    night eyes almost too blind for change
and
    our heart-guts
        too fat from kfc
            too sedated 
            from classic 
            easy poisons

to find true vectors
            
            that hurt to follow
            
            that hurt to free

dull hearts from hackneyed cages of catalogue aspiration

    i
wonder
is the universal mind too full now ?
    its
    ideas
    and
    balls

        spread

            too 
            thin ?

from arranalexander.co.uk