Only a Little Sleep, a Little Slumber

And suddenly you

Have not a word to say for yourself.

Only a little knife, a small incision,

A snickety nick in the brain

And you drop off, like a polyp.

Only a crumb of fungus,

A pulp of mouldy tinder

And you flare, fluttering, black out like a firework.

Who are you, in the nest among the bones?

You are the shyest bird among birds.

‘I am the last of my kind.’