Coming at you
Fireworks crashing through the night
Flocks of birds like
Bursts of arrows in a spray
Kids on bikes or roller blades
Crowds that walk the other way
Coming at you, bills to pay
Objects on the carriageway
Motorbikes on sunny days
Coming at you, blinding rays
Words of Strangers
(Yada Yada Yada)
‘How are you today?’ they say
‘It’s you I’m talking to’ they say.
And, oh, the sweetness in a softened bed,
the pulse of sleep, deep sleep and half asleep;
a dream is coming at you, coming in you,
along the spindle of a gyroscope
and, in a drowthy half-light of a sleep,
golden threads of dreams come swirling through
coming at you, here’s one you made earlier;
preposterous, astonishing: right at you.
So, listen, in a crack between two worlds
where busy half-lid dreamers do their stuff,
coming at you, morning eyes are flickering
and, coming at you, birds fly out from turrets
and, coming at you, moonlit objects knocking.
Knock knock. The water pipes are warming up.