Skyscraper tusks stab the sky,
unicorns prick silver holes
and score flashing arcs
across the pitch of night.

The pale medal of yesterday
swings overhead,
lulling the restless,
singing its nocturne.

And we sleep,
among the dashboard flickers,
slow breathing
our day into meaning.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets where Sarah is hosting tonight and inviting us to write a Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words) to include the word ‘sleep’ (


32 thoughts on “Succumbing.

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