on the cusp

Onset of flu.
Eyeballs half baked.
Base lines coming
Through the cieling.
Words of warning
In a half tone
Murkiness. Dead
Bay leaves spider-
Crawl the mirror.
TV screen blank.
Carpet strangely
Still. Green plimsols
Paired up. Footsteps
At front door. Keys
Jangle. Never
More, they mutter
As the door slams.

Midnight arrives.
Saturday comes.
No turning back
Clocks or time or
All that comes to
Pass, because there
Never is; there
Never can be.

The voices res-
Onate through floor-
Boards like never
Before. Spectral
Voices, hiding
Sounds of other
Voices, trying
To break through to
Take me back. Like
Polanski's walls.
Hands reaching out
Saying do not
Forget the day
We danced or laughed
Or screamed or drank;
All of us. And
People fall down
Drunk on the floor
Or coil in love
Or lust or smile
At the secret
Joy the space has
Brought them and we
Smile back knowing
It is a strange
Magic we've blessed
These walls withal
Through the strangeness
Of our own strange
Perishable
Magic. Trembling
Through the atoms
Of this the home
We have brought to
Life.