It is winter.
I slip down behind the cushions
Of the sofa of the world.
Until spring comes
With its zest and rain and cleaning
I'll hide with the damp and mold;
Hibernating from the cold.

In summertime
I let the sun's rays scorch my face
And let the nights soothe my burns.
Until spring comes
I'll lie in my unmoving sleep,
Lie static while the world turns,
Sleep until the sun returns.

I like autumn.
I am grateful to the trees who
Give their multi-coloured hair
To make my bed.
I send their names to comfort's gods
And I ask they let them share
Dreams of sleeping through despair.


by Matt