Open with a whisper,

Open with a whisper,

Even as the darkness shades it.

Raindrops bruise the glass

Trammelling inconsistent

Shadows over milky

Sun lit corridors.

Shut down at night

As different imaginings

Roar chaotically

Through dark hollows.

Shattering incandescent

Filaments

That float

In uniform rotation.

Bringing together

Enigmatic contributions

From the dark side.

Disguised orchestrations

Perform a variation

Of their unfinished,

Unsympathetic symphony.

Until the arc of morning

Tilts the gathering gloom,

Tangentially

In the direction

Of days breaking.

Footsteps clatter down

Broken stairways

And nothing,

Not even dreaming

Is ever quite what it is.

Even the aimlessness

Of wandering,

Far and wide

Lost in absurdity,

Is hindered by insistent

Reminders of other

More concrete affairs.

Heart felt,

Heavily prejudiced,

Barely philosophical leanings

Pull the sagacious spirit

Back to the centre ground.

Lightly bound,

With the glue of sanity

Scarcely holding.

On a day which, even as it begins,

Gently sinks.

Down into the damp pit

Of an English summer.

This is no time

For flip flops

And who thought baggy

Shorts were a good look

In the dirty grey

Of spring rain

And they call me insane.

No way.

Not today.