The sun tries to go down &
the moon floats near my elbow.
I wish I lived where night
falls suddenly & the stars
look like bits of paint
scraped off a window. Instead
I sleep in the bed of a Great Man,
myself, too tired to cover up
the balanced odalisque of feeling
crashed out beside me
on the cushions in the back
of a revving panel van. I hope
I don't wake up this alert, or as black
as you paint my childish heart.
The Stunned Mullet : John Forbes 1988