cocooned, arthritic bunk

soft as chipboard.

breathing in cruel air.

like a moth, caught

between curtain and

addiction. tossing. how

many lurgies have

starved here? walls too

thick with undercoat

to talk. voices

muzzy. welcoming the

slow syringe of sleep

then waking, upright,

dreams rushing away on

a coastal flat tide,

thirsting, feverish with

truth, but a drowning

man only sucks lines

from tomorrow