Turbulent dreams belie a sense of calm:
A man strokes a woman’s head as she sleeps
Whilst a war of naked bodies and lost friends scream their vitriolic inside.
And then I walk in here. this hot, milky, dimly lit room
Where hypnotists' beckon the somnambultic trance
(some say).
But today I find myself buzzing -
Freud’s analysis would say ‘oh its simply sex,”
Whilst the tantrists’ smile and go on their way,
Breathing and murmuring soft groans of delight.
Floating past old ladies and young debutantes on the road
Babies and over-priced perambulators past a homeless boy looking glum.
We all started the same way, we all end with a thing called death,
But it’s the middle part that’s just as thrilling
And yet for some it’s so damn chilling.
Here I smile and I laugh, I tease and I play
And yet, of course,
There is another who spits, as he hisses, and swears as he sobs.
To him they say you must go,
To the ones you do not know.
So slowly I turn, so slowly I turn
To face these frowns below tears.