The floor to ceiling hotel window is
A lidless, depthless, staring midnight eye
The bed’s reflection breaks along its gaze
Sheets rolling in a long, disordered line
Face down, the weave of hair conceals her face
As tattered heart’s words tumble to the carpet
I am complicit: dumb, and blunt and hard
Plumbing a womb of shit and barren darkness
Later: scrutinised by bathroom light
Sitting naked with my head in hands
Marooned in a field of arid, empty white
Revealed to be the object that I am
Next door: drooling, drunk and stoned and slurring
Maybe, words (I think) she might be crying
Theme Park at its Darkest 