~Corridors~

Scribbled poetry,
from crooked dreams of hospital pavements,
outside littered with spent cigarettes and scattered comforting daydreams,
inside they wait on time’s constant hand,
relentless ticking counters of life,
slow passing paranoia’s whisper,
hung heavy in corners as dusty factory cobwebs,
down endless shining sterile corridors,
flickering lights a mirror of life,
where one goes out,
another’s switched on.

Circles circles,
endless circles,
locked here in the desert cave,
things aren’t so different,
the shaman wears a stethoscope,
adorned in bright scrubs,
they dance with death,
stealing his glory where they can,
incantation’s of medicine’s tongue,
chanted over heart beat rhythms,
smeared with blood & enemies unseen,
count to ten Mr. Read...then dream.






©David Nickle Read 2015
All Rights Reserved By The Author