Middle of the Night Morning

One-a.m. Ticcing.

“Mummy, I don’t think I can

Stop saying that word”

Momentarily…

Momentarily… out loud

Thoughts   flood in the dark

Staccato stillness –

Cascading electrical

Pulses. On. On. On.

Numbers are other

Worldly: bright gloopy glue goo

Axons, glitterly

Reverberating,

Precision tuning fork chimes,

Through the scaffolded

Crystalline lattice

of genetic hyperspace.

– Counted on fingers.

Hemispheres diffused.

Fresh alloy-ground bean nuclei

Funnelled up over

the meniscus’

Intermittent taut quietude…

Before the rippled

Circles, concentric

Memories, skim like polished stones

to the hulled, rind rim.

I stir my coffee

Round and around the wrist-click clock:

Syncopated ticks.

Not tics – just ticks and

Clicks and spoon stims. Caffeinated

Pill peristalsis

Cream and green pep pods

Split from the pack on the kitchen

High shelf allotment.

Psycho-

Neurotic

Phonetics:

Demand avoidant

Octadic heptades, gently,

Undisguisedly

Teasing out the count.

Short of a conscientious

End beyond itself.

Images purl down

Celestial shoulders, freed

Gestural droplets

Lapping and tapping

Phobic mosaics. Fogged folk songs

A-stippling glass lights;

Torrential elbows

Angled juxtapositions

Windows painted shut.

Low clouds cast jewelled

Shadowy splays at brick walls

Taller than stone trees

Soporific stills.

Quivering pearl-petalled bulbs

Question cold, bared roots

Afraid to look up,

Contemplating dulled amber

Night’s street lamp sadness.

Thirty one million,

Five hundred and thirty six

Thousand orbital

Clicks, three moons removed

From familial collisions;

Asteroid ice. Trimmed

Paper plate planets

Hung out to dry but left there

To rip in the rain…