In-between worlds
When tomorrow comes as we all know it will
Seven hours and counting
to be the master again in my own place and time,
tomorrow.
Splashes of green that cannot be confused
and yet give the impression they are trying;
forcing through, though failing
Setting time.
Into the beams of a constant imagination
it is easy to fathom why, just why
the twisted sticks that sprout a confused state
cannot understand.
As six hours pass, some sleep maybe.
It seems to all be the same anyway; after all –
the colours are blended into brown (in time)
so I sleep with a certain, confused satisfaction.
Saturday.
Different Danny 