Anyway, tonight is too cold for snakes
& the shed in the backyard is too small for practice haunting
some people into dream-things that move across water.
Some people will tell you the moon
is an underwater white redundancy
Some will say they have seen funny things in the path of light
The way it pauses to seek its origin
halfway through two molecules,
Some people have seen you running at night,
naked & without a sex.
They will come to you with this new evidence, intercept light
Before it falls it falls on water.
When they lean across to touch you
They are empty rooms and a school of what yesterday was is,
They will hold your head under water and try to trick you
Into admitting that you…are not that man who runs at night.
Are you that man who runs at night?
Simple exercise: a jug of hypochlorite is no way to go to heaven,
& neither is listening to Leonard Cohen.
Some people will take all the will out of your words,
One will say he has seen the great illusionist of our time
Disappear under water and come out as a transvestite,
In a pink kimono.
There is a fear of drowning in your laughter,
that short stride
From here to the two colours of the eyes of an infant.
Time de dum de de dum is a drum
& you are a mime dance.
Funny things in the water, dead fish do not do well in painkillers.
In the pipes of my body my body they will say you cannot be,
Ah, but what is that green idea growing under your nails,
All night scratching the dense wood of your eyes,
They were sybarites before us. Long dead before they understood their rituals of dying.
Why is it our language
Does not accommodate short lines? It is all
Arrangement into…some people will tell you the night,
Is a white key when Brubeck is playing is praying.
This is the thing, you crawl into the bodies of evergreens seeking a silent room.
You are ribbed like dead fish catalogue, the question
Of your laughter is a delay in the train schedule.