Witches
Head back on my pillow,
I’m five, seven or nine,
I look through glass a century old,
With beads and winks and shimmers,
Stare of a cold London moon.
I see witches, navy black,
Four together, looming up,
But never getting bigger,
Round my room and gone.
And now the moon has touched my spine again,
From the front, it’s fingers through my mouth,
But I’m not dancing, I’m not singing,
I’m not haunted, I’ve no feelings,
All I want is for my heart to go out.
Oh, the soil that threw me up,
Has released me from its’ touch,
My childhood willow tree has died,
Falling down behind my eyes,
Now my city lights the sky,
Never sleeping, never quiet,
And in the corner of my eye,
Something’s calling me aside..
And now the moon has touched my spine again,
From the front, it’s fingers through my mouth,
But I’m not dancing, I’m not singing,
I’m not haunted, I’ve no feelings,
All I want is for my heart to go out.