Under them, the world is as real as dream
Breathe deep and inhale the whole room
The fleshy red walls swell and contract
The spider kings in the corners spend the whole day
Putting out their yarns and building bigger beds
Waiting for something to crawl into them.
An edge of light through the thick armoured curtains
Drives right into the left eye
Pull over the covers as the warrior with his helmet
If I can’t see the world
It can’t see me
Through the slit in the open window
The dustbin men bang their dirty alarms:
Pulling back the lids on the sleeping giant,
They proceed to jump on his eyes, chanting
Mr Sandman, you’ll get yours
And like the spiders in those dustbins
Who have built cathedrals
Bejewelled with flies,
That a soup tin crushes to dust
(possibly their brittle bodies too),
Life is not an easy one to live.
