Glare

It's white steel that feeds the sky
today it's made of white clouds and snowy glares of light
that spill desolately
and make the day nightly
the silence that hammers on the doors of hearts
to be let in
is engulfing and intoxicating
and I drink it quite eagerly
to spit it out then

after a while you taste its strange flavour
of frogs in the darkness
burping like beasts that hop on your forehead
to eat it out
perhaps
slowly,
with forks and knives
eagerly
not forgetting their manners

I stare at some words
I read Friday
they throb
I sleep.