ALONE AND IN TATTERS
The moon curls in upon itself,
Enfolding the light,
Tight into her barren belly.
The telly flickers
Icy white and bright blue,
Casts shadows of my skeletal frame
Onto the blank walls of this bedsit room.
Alone then, am I,
Gazing beyond city chimney stacks
At the darkening dome of sky,
In the misty misery of solitude:
All my bridges are painted over now,
The fields are flooded with salt rain
And the cows are no longer milking.