It’s time to chase lights
whirl-pooled in static charge.

My aerial must have blown loose
with all the colours bursting through.

Tongue tied, this organ has turned rubber
and the words bounce back into my throat.

I am sorry I asked you to be quiet,
but this volume control seems to have broken.

Brass band clustered in the corner of my vision…
why only play spoons across brittle knees?

Wish I could make a cushion out of these bones
or drive one sharp enough through the pain point.

All this chaos petered out into a slow rocking
of landlocked sea sickness where I flounder.

Drown me in something other than brightness,
let me find a room dark enough in which to sleep.