_________Inspired by Sylvia Plath's 'Ariel'_______ Blinding knives of morn awake me - harsher than a kept truth And I again, forced by routine to the weeks immure, of grey walls grey skies grey words, and big eyed grey blind chameleons. This permanent down surfaces in syndromes as your smiling incubus comes on your dreams as realities foetus gnaws soiled wombs stillborn. Rotting, in a soft pink cove. I die amongst the living who live like their cappuccinos pale, dusted thick skinned and cold, in voluntary vortexes. I am living proof Of the living fake. Who will sparkle in a sea of diamonds to be found pale and stiff goldenly in sand, amongst closed clams and oceans little bastards Feasting on emptiness. Let my epitaph be gulls, Who cry honestly piercing silence above old wrinkled landscapes And my flawless youth, which was never destined to sink to its bones carve into laughter lines and love an unreachable woman.