little turns
light morning cornflakes... soaked in sugar... drowned in milk... on a spoon, shiny, paints a shape... drawing an eye to patterns on a curtain... trying to draw a line through the woven shades... with a mind... as a girl in pyjamas sits up square... from a messily sofa... abed with sleepcloths... just enough be a mind clear... to outrun an ache drawn back to a pillow falls... and sunshine... spreading over a dim room with a curtain... still closed... above the spoon still wavering in a hand she realises, realises and a nudge to save it spill... puts it in a mouth and a taste comes back... these are yesterday's... what is she doing on a sofa with a perfectly good bed in another room just cross the way... in there and there's nobody in there; she's all alone, so she wonders a why... and stares at a wall... and turns to a bowl... a bowl soaked in sugar... drowned in milk... seeped in dream or maybe, in nightmare... it's still good... and she eats, a chewy scoff of sog and weth... but it's food she thinks, thinks... a thought travels across a mirror... it's there right in the middle and it seems a significant thing... though she can't think how or why... and starting to yawn now... rising from a shape to a shape... a shape to a sit... a sit with a lever arm and palm to a stand and a dizziness to accompany... so was she drunk she makes a wonder... makes a wonder and answers not an answer... so she wanders... and a laser line, a thin light corridor guides a jelly knee with its leg from an elbow lean to a stand... and she looks in a wall, and she leans to a mirror... and she looks in a mirror... and a man...
... light morning cornflakes... soaked in sugar... drowned in milk... on a spoon, shiny, paints a shape... drawing an eye to patterns on a curtain... trying to draw a line through the woven shades... with a mind...
