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Should I crawl
Craven with some filigree foot
Hidden forever
In the shadows of my own
Innocuous phantom

To spend the hours
Amongst the esteem of cement and parchment
Courting the grains of sand
Clinging to the befuddled moss
And wondering on the prisms caught
In dew drops

The dust I think
This nighttime reminds me of
Once the stars were made of

And but for dreams
Would scratch onto rock
All that I was
Every smile
Every love
Nailed into this crumbling stalwart
And crunched on teeth
The stones of its food

Who
The light flickers
Who
As nothing answers
Save the rattle flicker
Of celluloid theatre
And on the image depicted
This vast and written me
In all those technicolours
Of a dream

Who
There on this silver pixel screen

It was a life
Now etched in thumbnail scrapes
Counting the seconds in
The years
The days


And but for dreams
Would I be scratched into brick
All that made me
That which I was
Every smile
Every love
Nailed with the sleepwalking palms
Stalwart crunching ever on the tooth
The stones
Of its food

Who

Who
Who there tiptoed through the ranks
Of sleeping angels