Inner Monologue – a poem for the blog because it’s long

It is quiet when I close my eyes.
The monologue that turns like tank treads through the mud of Today 
ceases as often as mans greed is slacked. But
here I am tonight
a master swordsmith
shoeing hooves blindfolded
having started work predawn
and it’s not long past
the wintry dusk
eyes slacking into the glass and electricity of this screen and hark!
is that a single silver gout of drool 
escaping your over heated mouth?
It’s certainly not my brightest bulb string of moments.
My metaphors run away from me
like fingertips that reach forever into the crest of Now.

My shower is so comforting next to me, the steam, I have forgotten to put a bath salt in the basin and I’ve been here long enough that it’s too late to start one now

No! This is fine I will drop it.
Let this weird rebellion relieve me
They stop –
the Monologueist turned one-woman-show, 
and sometime ramble-rousing riot-rot in raggles,

has fallen silent with the cotton of a thousand racist angels!
And my heavy eyes close…
And I see the quiet…
Feel it’s heavy lid close over me…
Smell it’s clean clean cleaner smell …
But the beloved void does not surround all of me
just the double cup space just in front of me

behind

distant

but in earshot
like you were a bit hungover
and some scolding scold was trying to rouse you
for rent money or whatever
but you can’t open your eyes yet. 

Like that.
The roar
of normal life
with its glittering torches
and terrorist treatises
raggling up the air just above their heads.

a messy selfie for a messy poem.