Sleep’s Warehouse. By CpSingleton © 2014
The doors to the warehouse were
Unable to close and
You all came bounding in.
A maelstrom of unknown thoughts
Spinning and flitting, yet
Gathering momentum as
You clattered and pinged from
Empty, rusting sheets of
Slackly pinned steel.
You whispered and bellowed:
An out of tune orchestra
Consisting of faces and ideals
I didn’t know I even hoarded.
Until another night of
A jammed mind-door let them in.
Jumbo-jets struggled in snow-storms
Outside my calm hotel window.
Captain gruesomely determined to land.
Football supporters wearing the white shirts,
Of the two teams I support.
Each set positive of some outcome.
Dining-halls of long chipped tables,
Serving gears and heavy nuts and bolts to
Cheery, content faces.
Celebrations in and around.
I stepped-lightly over candles,
Making very little sound.
The orchestra muffled, just a noise.
Music gone to bed
Just like the planes, girls…
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