Little specks of light place dots of shiny dimples on the acres of jaw bones in my dream.
I’ve wandered into a blark dreamscape.
A wayward orphan working for the inner dialogue of prattle and scrap.
Those tiny lights of true course are mingled and manged with the shadow dust and fear shaping.
It is plain as Jane without malice that the tilt of love has shifted as the night drives my dreaming on.
There’s demon dandruff spitting into the black making a sulky soup of grey gloom.
I pray for morning to wash the franked bacteria off me.
Morning brings the birds with their songs and a fine mist and my eyes are open.
The bedroom window lets the daylight dance upon whatever it fancies.
“Hot tea will soothe this rash in my head” I mutter as I stumble into the kitchen seeking the kettle.
I refuse to look at the jaw bones scattered on the floor, I will not say a word as they crunch under my bare feet.
A word falls from a large bleak jaw bone and it rolls and rolls around.
There are echoes of many words, too many to completely understand.
I can feel each word moving my diaphragm, pushing against my breath.
I am caught in the starkness of a silent stranger’s whiskey breath not knowing if foul play is the next move.
I know I should shower to wash the night off me and become baptized into the day reality.
But I still keep counting jaw bones hoping the phone will ring and mess up my count.
© K S Hardy 2011