13 February 2011


Hear the dulcet tones of Costis Demos reading these words

The day is just cracked
Just spilling
Into the brick wall
In through the duvet

Each wheezy lung awaking
Brain starting to swivel
To whir and click
Conjuring a plan
Picking a path for the day

I am bone
I am dust collecting
I am dry
Each heavy eye lid lifting
Body stretching
Reclaiming itself
From solitude
Legs twisted together and warm

I can help put this ship on the water
Unleash each yawning sail

There is half a bunch of carnations on my desk
In a pint glass
Next to an empty bottle of red wine
I am crunching my cigarette
Into the ashtray
(( the hush of traffic more like a whinge ))
My muscles loosening from their knots
Tongue deciding
Whether it wants coffee
Or water
Or a mouth to explore
To groan into
Bare bulb
Bleeding permanent glow
The painting askew above the mirror
(( the hush of traffic more like a whinge ))
I have beaten the day still
In its amniotic fluid
I am birthed
I am born into my blankets and pillows
My dry mouth
Tangled hair
Warm feet
Time will soon be pinching
Giving it’s sterile measurements
The pattern in my head
Struggling to defend itself amongst the contours
The terrain of all other reality
Each undertone appreciated

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wonderful poem that turns the rough daily exercise of waking into an interesting unraveling of body and sprit - making "early" seem rather lovely, instead of rather dreadful.

....nicely read by Costis too.