I STUMBLE
as the beds sail
through the sunset
the dark dreams of sheets fill my being
with tumours:
…the deep loneliness in
the bathroom where the
roses are bleeding . ..
my black kisses are the scabs of a TV
conscience that won’t
let the lilies drown in
the bathtub
now that the gentian doves are
weeping and the sickness
is ready with
the knife i
stumble through the alleys
towards your harbour where
already the lights are missing