At the door

Difficult to face that muddle
at the door as you wake and the morning
is already there waiting with muscles
waving at your eyes challenge the first
thing your mind engages with that moment
before light has registered that time
you seek out the shining stars that brittle
mess involving both eyes, your hands and white gloves
now grey with mascaras from today and last week
when last you weeped about the way the ducks
flew over during the late summer
not leaving it till late autumn
proving everything about myths
and plating inscriptions in ancient stone
with cloth untied from any old man
that was dead and buried like
was the hammers right hand man
in the shock of yesterdays park and
how it featured in the magazine covers
in black and white masque and chains
of bitter pills and swallowing masses
chainmail patties chocolate chains holding
me prisoner there is no escape from these pains
this majestic test of broad beans and largesse
in the chink the angel faces the lest
and bargains out pills for the brocolli test