I woke up at 5
the sun gone
the city of London quiet
for once

the air was sweet
a fox in the garden
living his life
alone
I watched him route around for food
and move on

the cold crept over my body
hairs on end
my breath a vapour
the very same I pressed against the car window
when child

the room filled up with images
I projected them expertly
put those women in the garden dancing
put a spotlight on one
and then another
had a man with a gun
step into the light
and make the now familiar suggestion
I put the world in the galleries
I placed behind my eyes
judge judge judge
I begged

then I had the moon turn blood red
and the trumpet sound
the sound was too powerful
it ruptured buildings and bodies
birds fell from the sky
and earth trembled
cracks in walls and glass
then everything began to shatter
to the East a blinding white light
and an army in the sky is coming to sift the wheat from the chaff
I will not get their Seal of approval
I smell the scent of burning hair
It is mine

my skin slips off
a melting horror I've become
a victim of the righteous
my blood boils
as the gates of hell are opened up
and the locusts swarm upon me
I see the fox pause,
look round at my window,
and I snap out of it

returning to my bed
cold and thirsty and full of wonder
the words of the last women to take that bed,
a poet,
stirs me to start again
"whatever you appear to be, that's what you are"
and James Joyce appears to parody Jehovah and Popeye
"I am what I am"
I laugh unto myself

Pour the whisky,
write the song,
back to the drawing board to start again
and bed another
make another living
make another joke
collapse catatonic
the tears never my own
the words never my own
but the voice
the only thing belonging
I could rip your soul out
I tell her
and she says
she knows