CrackDaniel

One thing that I have noticed, is that as I get older, it takes me longer and longer to find and get back inside my body after I wake up from slumber. Even after I'm walking about the house, fixing coffee and drinking it, rolling a cigarette and smoking it, little wisps of my self start to find me and begin to merge with my body and mind, filling and awakening me one wisp at a time. It's as if I exhale my self as I sleep into the night and inhale the night air in my sleep. I used to feel as if my mind was in a fog when I awoke but now realise that it has emptied into the air of night and my cranium is actually a void that needs filling again

The noise of the street the fetid smell of rubbish bins and open sewer an ashtray overflowing with embers still glowing empty bottles strewn on bare floor full glass in hand I've been here before negotiating leaden legs as if walkin' in sand tired of the turmoil tired of non-refund a grip on the cold neck a sip down the neck Starlings crackling, hissing whistle at the window Grey doves cooing singing the song of a homeless heart white noise hissing in my ears caressing the nape of my lobes grey skies at noon in a tenement flat no one knocking at the door just the rattle of radiators under the floor rain weeping on window

There's somethin' about the drunken streetlights. . . on a stumble-bumble home from the pub. . . winking between the bare limbs of spring trees. . . crescent moon's cheshire smile obliterated by halogen's glare. . . cracks in the sidewalk become chasms and canyons to dance upon precipice's edge. . . a step from the kerb becomes the abysmal end of the day. . . the tinkling of smuggled bottles of beer from the pub. . . and my coat is never large enough to quench my thirst. . . my sunkissed face winces in the evening's cool air. . . grins for sins committed under the influence. . . I'd dare not change a moments notice. . . where sin begins. . .