Waking up, falling down

In
the tin-can morning
jagged-sunned
safe, but for a raw edge
behind the death-knell curtains
I put on my floor trousers
laying like a dog
dust the colour of the moon 
sieves down
I step raggedly through
motes follow, worshipping 


There’s a myth 
that strength and vulnerability 
aren’t mutually exclusive 


From here you can almost see
the willow by the bridge


But (too bright) today
I will just hallow the memory


The shadow of the bed’s
barred iron brow
stretches narrowly and wide 
to keep me


As if such creatures had enclosing wings


Crumpling by the escarpment
to the floor
I do not dispute

Corridor

Almost half awake
blanket warm
That strange lopsided walk
Of sterile corridors 
A smile in the side
Threads of rotten teeth
Holding desperately to silence
Except the ventriloquist muttering
That untowardly thinks; you left a bird inside
Obtuse and andiron blunt
Chest too cramped to so childishly fly
Arms that half stretch out
The sinews almost disconnecting
Wishbone flexed
To that hyoid shout
That leaves me palely clinging 
Against the ribs a cowl
A rose in my mouth
The glass has two faces
One folding in
The other folding out
Falling sideways
Through the airy space
That I halting breathed
The miasmic shape
That you left behind