Shine; ye rise, the call;
rooster, mullah and the bells
- temple walls and a distant church.
She not the least nor last,
the feeding bottle from Holy Land,
all in chorus, wake up now!
Blackout! A pal back from lunch,
with verses on ditch pinches;
from a dream in cryo-tube,
and the slow shaky carriage rides.
Three past the high-noon stroke,
still in bed, sore at heart.
Lethargy - the hungry writer,
for a toss, the Sunday hymns.
Shutting doors on sunshine,
love from one and the two.
Staying shy, the whispering rain,
frozen lips and a numb heart.
From sleepless nights chasing lust,
single lines on a paper heap.
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