Here is still

Even when the light is casting shadows
from my clocks and bedroom jewellery.

Here is still.
Now so late at night –
the morning shift has even started stirring.

Here is still.
Where the ceiling screens my eyes most rapturous thrills
and thrilling visions.

Here is still.
As these bombasted ears
pick each and every monster
to fit with every sound.

Here is still.
To be broken by all creaks
and coughs
and squeaks,
as all my world is stolen.

Here is still.
So still the shiny slide of slugs
attracts my senses.

Here is still.
And here lies my head,
furious with commotion
in the stillness of the night.