In the Castle

My sorrowing eyes fill with
row upon row of empty cages.
Somewhere behind me, a door slams,
then another, another… But there is
always a further room to breathe
dead space in — and so die by surviving.
Away with all that!
I'd like to fly up near the moon,
have it silhouette my head
then turn left and surprise it —
dive into a crater of hot lead
and have a bath! Sing my lungs out!
Here in this chamber,
my bats are fruit ripening
on splintery beams,
shopping bags on chandeliers.
I pluck them at will
and hold their pug faces
to my breast, singing my song
that no one can hear.
Today, I'll make the sun
go down early,
then start a fire.
Tinderbox and kettle;
burnt toast; tin whistle.
And brandy — lots!
I will leave my toes
unwashed until they
grow a thistle.