I would be unhappily aware of the shadow I cast,
The dark colours I pick do nothing for my stance.
I have ideas I said one night thinking that made up for the spit,
My father’s hands try stop the sea.
I would be unhappily aware of the eyes that stare,
The uneasy arrival of that man again, who he be.
Yes I wore my shoes down to get to this place, the other,
Not the side of the desk you seem keen to use, to work.
I don’t sit easy in the worn out pretend edge of things,
Don’t you collect people and make them yours, that’s still work.
My work is not saying yes to work but saying no to following. You.
The water in the eyes from laughing.
Then back to sleeping.