Daydream IV

Sweating and red, I stumbled out
of the oven of an afternoon,
a dry sponge on a dry spine
wrapped with spleen and aching
ribs, dead legs and arms
baking, hair lank and wet,
fatigued hands shaking, eyes
fried in sockets, seeing dots
moving in my empty house.
I felt my hot skin keeping
my organs in as I climbed
the shady stairs, saw the clouds
gathering in the south as I
opened every bedroom window
to feel the ghostly prickling
of static from a summer sky.

I lay my bones in the bath
and felt the creeping water lap
life to cooked meat, ice to burnt feet;
embalmed by cold fluidity
on tap, I closed my eyes with
a shuddering breath and gave up
feet shins thighs arse cheeks and back,
then cock and balls and inner ear,
I drowned myself, dunked my skull
and shivered, shrivelled, cold and clean,
feeling like a child again —
a plastic bag draped with seaweed
washed up on a distant shore.
Tired and white, I watched the light
playing on the bathroom wall,
dappling the mirrors with sun through
restless leaves, and breathed in
the first cool air of evening.