the swerving dark high hedges
winding down narrow roads
bramble nettle ivy high hedges
dotted houses, high gates
divided by high hedges

a lonely lamp post by the curve
half swallowed by the hedge

night quiet

all dark
a clear night, billion star sight clear night
still water still night

all still
chimney smoke rising star high silently undisturbed still.

the air, moist
pre-sickness mouth moist
rain forest moist –
the smell of cold squashed caterpillars and bramble wafting
in the cool moist evening air

the barrister’s grand house lit up and gated,
high iron, wrought iron gated and,
barring entry to any criminal thieves

tonight, he’s sleeping safely with his conscience clear
his impenetrable conscience

the mad man on the corner up till late
surrounded by his high hedges
dwelling and waiting, suspicious,
gate watching suspicious
unreachable tonight

the widow, newly vulnerable in the large house
a lonely existence
lifeboat lonely empty bed existence
dreading the worst from all those windows
those thin cold windows

the blind man: bitter blind, religiously bitter
blinded by anger nodding off briefly, restlessly
surrounded by his restless hounds and thorned high hedges
hoisting his provocation thirty foot high

the tall calm fella snoozing before late night work
in a semi dark room with equipment buzzing and blinking
feet crossed, arms behind his head, snoozing
snoozing, thanking the good earth god for his second chance

the young couple in deep sleep after their hard work
grand plan deep sleep
eager to cut down hedges but too young
curled up, close

the two-faced pharmacist, asleep, unashamed
sleeping in his court
in his hallowed former gallows justice court house `
retired and now full time conspirer

the cattle barn
young cows unmoving, huddled unsure
a foster house of cows standing in a thousand hoofed imprinted mud

the big fella opposite sleeping, gym tired, knocked out tired
dreaming and fighting insecurities
wading through knee deep mud in his dreams
blinking, twitching in his delirious sleep

the old pig butcher snoring
overweight, overheating, tangled in his kicked sheets, snoring
butcher and dog lover with
a pathetic dog curled at his feet dreaming of pork

the accountant sleeping surrounded by lined high fences
dreaming of revenge, schoolboy bullied boy revenge
finally feeling like a man
from behind his fence taking cold meticulous revenge
meticulous, like his garden path, revenge

now is late – even the old quiet pub is shut, closed shut

a trickle of tonights ale, bleach and urine
seeping down the steps, channeled by the
mortar groves in the red brick steps.
Gravy, mash, peas and crust filled bin bags by the lamplight.

the landlord sleeping knowing all but, indebted, always awaking

waves washing and lapping relentless and evermore
upon the red sand pebbled beach
upon the un-so-evermore cliffs
waves softly leaning and pushing at the red cracked sand stone cliffs
till they crack even more

the clear quiet night night
the dreamers oblivous, distracted, dreaming.

and those hedges between us
catching those dreams in the brambles

growing and catching more and more
growing till we were covered
short breaths under the bramble leaves
caught and consumed in our own dreams


awake, now caught and entangled by our nightmares
– in the land of hedges

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