Surely, There Is

Surely, there is something better than this.

There is night,
just as unpredictable,
but there is solitude,
even in the teeming black.

At night,
I take a lover with nipples the colour of raisins;
a country blooms into a district from a town
in the wake of dreams from a somnambulant child;
I am long and blue, birthing a human that frightens me into silence;
Things are true and exactly as they seem, or they are swift,
and they run with thieves.

Thoughts become thoughts become thoughts;
there is no loss when they shapeshift, not really,
when everything is circular.
People are physical events that can be remembered;
something in the retelling stays the same
and is the pinprick that wakes you
when they become other,
leaving themselves behind to be swept from corner to corner.

"Here It Goes Again" - OK Go