Sleeping in strange beds

Sleeping in strange beds

with doonas like smothering whales,
your feet hanging over concrete edges
cutting off your twinkle toes,
your morning’s spine an inverted bridge

signed in copperplate eternity,
your nipples communicating uneasily
with surreptitious plastic knobs
for cold electric nights

you’re the frozen collateral damage
of the lost blanket tug-of-war
bounced & creaked a third class carriage
minus the garlic breath & live chickens –

travelling in strange beds seems an odd
& hard pilgrimage to the land of nod.


~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on August 16, 2010.

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