This bed is not a bed for sleeping in,

the rub of midnight’s edge scrapes at the night,

for curling, twisting sheets erase the skin.

 

The prying, nettled shafts let loose their sting

and hands throw out their fists against the sleight;

this bed is not a bed for sleeping in.

 

Where crackled flames erupt the barbed margin

a thousand horses snap the dust and bite,

for curling, twisting sheets erase the skin.

 

As matted mattress bleeds the body thin

and night train breaks a scream beyond the light;

this bed is not a bed for sleeping in.

 

When cuts of granite steps enclose the rim

these dreaming fingers hold the visions tight;

for curling, twisting sheets erase the skin.

 

As shrouds of dandelion’s time blows in,

the salted stains of sweat surrender fight.

This bed is not a bed for sleeping in,

for curling, twisting sheets erase the skin.

 

Sign up to our Mailing List

Sign up to receive communications from Creative Future, including opportunities, updates on activities and more.

Scroll to Top