The Wasp-dream

The kind wasp woke me
It knew that I had dreamt
So its wings began to hit the glass
Til, bruised of life, it went

To a mouldy corner
Of the velux blind
And walked along the window sill
Until it left my mind.

It must have had a seance
Amongst the piling tread
As I later found it curling there
Dried out and dead

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