Mantra & Event

I

It’s too late, I’m too tired
there are too many small senses
crowded into the bed with the big
beige allover tiredness –
Let me sleep, let me not write
the aches in my arms tonight.
Only warm up the bed till a)
I can finally relax and b)

II

The bus is late
Condensated windows drip
onto raincoats, yawns, mornings.
Alongside, a giant spider crawls
slowly – it’s so big
it can crawl slowly and still
keep up

It takes a sodden leg
and taps the misted glass next to me
dunk, dunk, dunk
Pensioners get caught inadvertently
in its slowly trailing web
I stare
then go back to sleep.

Branches scrape on the bus
like dull whistles

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