Dreams, Cold, Old, New

Door windows of shattered colour shards,
Here, where Gods hang round in bars
Lilting choir on the jukebox
New polish on the locks
Mercury and Mars
Playing cards.

Where to now?
Either up or down
The fiddler’s bloody boat
The tail of the old man’s coat
Your choices made, your eyebrow
Raised, lord, what a pain it was to drown.

The grey city of cripples, perdurable pity.
Lipstick stains, bad teeth, fleck spit.
The university of rotting mind,
Tulips, but the cheap kind.
No sand in a sandpit,
Nobody pretty.

Why that end?
Returned to sender
Not fixed when broken
Like Father had never spoken
The arm was strong and slender
But now it’s stuck, it won’t even bend.

In the early spring, a rose blossom sea
Dream of charmed things to seek
A secret kiss beneath a hood
A chasing game in a wood
Speaking to speak
Being to be.

Feeling blue?
A voice like a flute
Will cheer you, mother.
You will truly love no other.
The pain you feel will be acute
But children, above all else, are new.

by Jack Knight


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