The Rude Shipyard.

The Rude Shipyard

Christ alive this place is rude
when im in the shipyard of dreams
the walls make me turn
peeling my skin into a cat like banana
ripe outside colour of cheetah
yellow tan with lots of black spots
the ghosts of the sea inside
watch, until i slip over
furry stripy
miaow
now im the right size
i can curl up on the cosy sofa
under the stars
beside the desk with the magic drawer
and sleep.

Walking steps on colourful stairs
shoes get covered in invisible paint
blue green orange marine
cherry sage yellow purple blossom
and leave footprints everywhere
barefoot
its like being a child again
stepping onto a tray of thick syrupy block poster paint
one day ill say goodbye
to the peaceful road outside the window
follow them all the way to the woods.

Im woken up running around the night garden on the sofa
by two men i cant see
past the crows nest of gloves
you ahoy!
chatting about mushrooms and drugs
"ive done a few things and its all been brilliant"
pyramid of the moon and sun
i can smell milk on the table
jade eyes open
i can see a boy surrounded by books
writing stories.

Drawer in a desk
A tiny silver cup hit with a pen rings true
what is it for?
a jar of artwork spills
milk on the table
where the bush fires burn
one white eyed triangle pupil
dilates slowly
a smile from a beautiful creature
contracts blinking day into night
from the tea, on a spoon
the spicy smelling bag wraps up
in the tiny silver cup
hit with a pen rings true
pearls pearls pearls
the mice climb out the drawer.