A play for madness (a poem)

A misread phrase, and a line popped into my head…

The feeling that sleeps here
sometimes chimes out loud
awakened from a late sleep
by uncontested thoughts
and fragments of desire
It spins upon itself, without warning
The cup is empty
the snake’s skin has shed
the table is filled with old magazines

I don’t see any magic here
only too many people crowding onto my cloud
The ticket price is too steep
I suppose it’s part of the plot
I just wish I couldn’t see the wires
Queen Elizabeth overslept this morning
The cup is empty
the queen is dead
the indifference is captured in old magazines

The noise we used to make here
was technically not allowed
to say nothing of the company we keep
It’s a precarious balance, this spot
but nobody called the plant hire
What was that you said this morning?
The cup is empty
the gilded edges have all gone red
pictures of the incident are in all the magazines

Nobody innocent has ever slept here
I don’t know…something about word clouds
stealing dreams from countless sheep
The sun is out, but there are no shadows in the shot
another plot to conspire
another cluster no longer forming
The cup is empty
What’s got in your head?
Who took all the copies of Life magazine?

(17 June 2016)