To be this caffeinated so late,
Is quite a riddled thing,
So fresh but lightly stale,
So full but growing thin,
I wish I were half closed,
But half open I remain.

Road trip through roaring wind and rain,
The grumpy lines upon the heights,
Tire out and fold like paper dreams,
Into a psychedelic smile,
Held back to yellow though cascades,
Of colour tug the edge of this,
Strange shift from every deepened grey.

Deeper, deeper blue,
Like evening sky in waning winter,
When the sky is thick but lighter,
A rolling scene of scattered hue,
Absent of stars or sun or moon,
Alone the wind a hallowed tune,
Comes drawn across the sky in lieu,
Makes firm the navy waves,
Marks out a flashing bright enclave,
A whistle in the deeper blue.

Home alone,
And the darkness is a little less full,
Empty of the sleepy bodies bound to mine by blood,
And it rumbles silently into the night,
Alas I remain with my friend and my brother,
He sleeps whilst I busy the winking hours,
They shall end soon.