It never sleeps. It is
what wakes you
trembling nights weeping
while
dreams melt in darkness.
It’s your
sweat soaked sheets
your churning empty bed;
the rain against your
window
soft, insistent,
constant
each drop a murmur in
reason’s diluvial roar.
Drag it to vertiginous
highs
or bury it
in anonymous hotels
stick it
with a needle try and sink it in
a sea of booze;
only when sated will it
vanish
a pick-up hustled you
for drinks;
an evanescent tracery
etched across a stormy
night;
an unfinished poem
in the memory of a
monstrous computer.
