a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

A meticulous flaw.
Window for a door.
He never shuts up.
I'm compelled to listen.
He lies on my bed.
He's in my head.
The words are at war.
Silence wades in.

My nightmares think, they converse
Nothing screams, he's in my dreams
Holding cue cards, the letters imbed in my head
Like bullet shards, I'm drowning in sentences
Waves crumple with living pages,
His apocalyptic rages, yet there is no end,
Consciousness, sleeping
Fail to defend, silence weeping,
I fear no scorn
I am reborn

Wilful entropy, baseless ghost of purgatory
Tittering chattering, his fitful nattering
I grow not drowsy, this waking wearies me
Speaking in tongues, fluent smoke of lungs
Wisping its way to the brain, madness courting a clever wonder earmarked as sane,
He's a wordy fuck
Stoner mismanaging natural chemical luck,
He's out to lunch, he's back for brunch
Up at dawn, all time and hours have been removed, are gone I implore, I ignore
I rattle a cup on the bars

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