"This is a fine nest i have made my self," said Mr Magpie "out of human hair, animal bone and soot.

Eyelids lead like heavy,

Unsteady hands, sand paper skin

Unraveled like fits of flint,

The cure in dreams was found, I don’t remember when,

I awake sleepless to find my body,

Face down, a lake of oil,

She leaves me feeling giddy,

Through the blood and toil,

And my head is feeling heavy

With a thousand suns left in the foil.

 

I leave this mark on the skin,

Let it boil and blubber,

And fill my veins with a false prophet,

I can consider,

I hail you in your infinite,

They let me live concealed, the gutter,

Take me from the distain of the alleyway,

The grit, grime and glass shards,

The rats that eat more than I,

The sun that smiles on you, bakes my skin in sin,

It gives me nothing but sickly lust,

To beg, steal or borrow,

As I burrow further in this cardboard,

In this plastic blue bottle borough,

In this day that never ends,

In this self contained world that always fends,

For itself,

In this world I am burning in the endless sun,

And the cold glass moon, she gives me no comfort

Except the light too see and sleep forever in this ventriloquist slumber.