I fail at sleeping

in a show of unconditional accusation, the reproachful slander of your hereafter,

amongst the placid hours,

I try to be the grand man, but I shake too much

unhinged by the overreach of my skeletal height

much to the delight of every unskilled whistler

tough love and rougher hate interprets the shuddering motions, as my left hand lingers

over a poss...

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a night too quiet

yet, even in it’s silence,

not quite enough for me

now in my head those words were read

by Richard Burton

but then she came calling in the hours

when there aren’t yet enough digits on the clock

and I ignored the advice of William S Burroughs, or some other I forget,

and told her to fuck off, leave me to the monotone

test card transmission, t...

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