And again

I'm actually losing sleep over this. (There's definitely something wrong with me). Re-re-editing this poem as it still sounds too much like "Jam" to me. Hopefully all imitation will now be taken away as if it never happened.

2006
8am flicks eyes awake
to up and stand on topple soles
and take firm hold on woodchip walls
and thrown outdoors to red-brick street
and city shuffling shackled feet
to next grey roof and nylon room
with nowhere else to go.

Sleepwalk past a cage of grass,
drawn square in boardroom, shaded green,
and dotted with prescription trees
and blooms in awkward symmetry
and contrived peace, imagined quiet,
phantasmic space to punctuate
the grind of grit track growl.

Blessed with red light
Stop, turn green
and squeal of taxi slaps raw cheek
and bitter wind through urban funnel
and pane-glass towers, flexing double,
inviting eyes to glimpse within,
find hollow mirror, mutant forms.

Midnight glance at fortune star
finds golden hue of restless street
and drip of tap taps urban pulse
and tarmac, train-track, tight-breath lungs,
and flicker-screen of crass and colour
filling time and broadcast quota
circus reality feeds nostalgic real.

Rest in sleep brings muscle spasm,
worn flat joints, bionic limbs,
and nerves knot fast beneath cracked skin
and blue trail veins on every inch
and wheeze monoxide, pores seep pus,
exhaustion throttles, sirens ring,
your body forced through key-hole gap.

And this desert is full
And empty
And empty
And this desert is crowded and dead.