In the mind the wersal steals <br />and picks his way through entreals <br />of undigested days <br />that would make dreams <br />of dry wothered hay <br />that had its sappiness removed <br />by fearsome uncouthed broods. <br />And in the shadows lurks <br />unformed childhood quirks <br />that have waited patently <br />for the chance to prounce <br />and impart a drench'ed sound <br />to your taught pigmented lips <br />as you turn and churn <br />in greamy states of rest.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crying-out-in-sleep/
