Perpetual midnight under an arbour of Bella Donna.
Between the jammy toes of Michelangelo.
In a hatbox at the back of Julia's cupboard.
Eternal midnight behind Io's sulphur mansion.
Beheld by a company of fussing autocrats.
Beside an ice-battered winter's moonset.
Lovers in lockstep, on the floes of their bedding,
and it's forever midnight, oozing like Omaha crude
from a family plot of an unkempt cemetery.
A dog barks at the ridiculous
while the sleeper turns and turns again
in always-midnight's tameless convulsions.
Midnight ad infinitum, worries gathering wool,
sleep abandoned, a grey mouse home from the hills,
high lonesome raised to a greater order.
