At night it’s the stars

At night it’s the stars

And the moon

Swimming together

Shoal upon shoal

Food for the killer

An endless swirl

Silvery skin sparkling

Across a bottomless sky

The moon, a baleful presence

A blind eye

Turning with the tide

A patient hunter.

At sunrise

There are too many men with

Empty faces

Brainless cavities

Floating through the morning

Dreaming of recklessness

As a way to escape

The rigours of routine

Colliding infrequently

With the truth of things

Sliding off thin skins

Too much bacon on their plates.

The grease of it oozing

From open pores

Congealing in the creases

Prematurely ageing

Children with dirty faces

And muddy fingerprints

On the starched white

Tablecloths

Of street cafes.

Nobody is left to disagree

With the notion

Of big dreams

Being just enough

To make a difference

To small lives,

As the sweep and majesty

Of the night sky

Always takes the biscuit

When it comes to grandiosity.