A night marked by poles of red light.
Angular figures, a clock: 11.44.
It is always this time; red figures on a table;
reminding the mind – again.
This is life – never more alone than now;
tiredness so profound the mind is separate
from wearied frame; an enfeebled entity
adrift on an uncharted course.
Tick tock. It watches; it knows;
torture of night bleeding to day;
thoughts twisted on a spindle,
suspended to swing unhurried,
threads of reason unravelling,
a pulse of light in the darkness