Dawn is naked and alive
pirouetting in the street outside
she is a broad grey sky, endless above
It's not rain...
just some foggy spray licking windows
a coat the building wears
a metaphor I cannot interpret
all irony is groggily lost on me
yawning with my whole body
struggling with the load of memory
I'm oiling daily
So maybe I should stay indoors
get the fire going, boil the kettle
that armchair won't sit in itself
those books won't read themselves
How easily these stories are told to me
voices pitched and plot unfolding systematically
inspiration distilled onto the pages
the bittersweet feeling as I turn them
with story presenting; story nears its ending
time growls and time swells across all things
I read that 'the doorbell is ringing'
So I leave the room to check for the uninvited
There's no one there
and I return to find...
Now the kettle has melted on the stove
the fire has spilled onto the carpet
the armchair roars in flames
those flames are toying with the curtains
all my books are burning
the whole house is burning now
the whole house is burning down
Standing, cursing, in the sooty street
'Oh Dawn, what have you done to me?
you have killed all of the trinkets
that I felt expressed my personality
you have released all of the memories anchored to them
now they are free and floating ghostly in the morning air
Oh Dawn, you have stripped me bare of all I carried
now I'm no longer tethered to anything here
Oh Dawn, I am free to start a new journey
I'll have to leave in the clothes I'm wearing
Oh Dawn, what have you done to me?
you have set me free to start again...'