I spent last night on a slowly deflating air bed.
I was a broken plank in the ocean,
a fly in a slowly stirred soup,
the last bag on an airport conveyor belt.
My dreams were my awakes.
I felt like a slow motion action star
from the 70s falling from a cliff,
Tom Daley diving through custard,
the last seed to be found in a receding gum,
a helium balloon destined for the sun.
© Carl Burkitt 2020