The mind is closing
flowing blood is slowing
yawning, going round and round
like horses towing lorries
The window curtains slowly drawing
open, close, waiting till a another dawns dawning
Pictures, paintings, drawings, sketches
Traces of the day’s adventures scattered on the office table
The bedroom’s bed and cradle
cradle thoughts like sauce to ladle
Slowly collapsing one by one
upon each other, resting on each other
mattress of pillow flowers
and quilt of leather heather
The weather outside the window panes grows dark
and the lark yawns quiet,
Mind on a momentary diet.
With the mind closed up,
the tongue lays down
and nose and ear ignores the worlds smells and sounds
and the blood still pumps around and around
but slowly now,
like a red shelled snail now.
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