Coming at You
Starting small
Coming at you
Fireworks crashing through the night
Floating seeds
Flocks of birds like
Bursts of arrows in a spray
Motorway bridges
Bloody midges
Kids on bikes or roller blades
Cambered roads
Racing drivers
Crowds that walk the other way
Shower heads
Letterboxes
Coming at you, bills to pay
Spiky rain
Avalanches
Objects on the carriageway
Gusty wind
Flashing mirrors
Motorbikes on sunny days
Sparky fire
Stinging rain
Coming at you, blinding rays
Words of Strangers
(Yada Yada Yada)
‘How are you today?’ they say
‘It’s you I’m talking to’ they say.
And, oh, the sweetness in a softened bed,
the pulse of sleep, deep sleep and half asleep;
a dream is coming at you, coming in you,
along the spindle of a gyroscope
and, in a drowthy half-light of a sleep,
golden threads of dreams come swirling through
coming at you, here’s one you made earlier;
preposterous, astonishing: right at you.
So, listen, in a crack between two worlds
where busy half-lid dreamers do their stuff,
coming at you, morning eyes are flickering
and, coming at you, birds fly out from turrets
and, coming at you, moonlit objects knocking.
Knock knock. The water pipes are warming up.
