Dreams slink in moonlight haunts;
zero, clinging to dry leaves,
watches how the hours trip on gravity
and lovesongs trashed in ecstacy
among cold cigarettes …
Night rattles bone and thought slips
out, in search of something,
while i smoke this weighted cliché,
watching time tread eggshells,
wondering what’s left to write.
forget me now 
I have said it over and over and once more. I love your poetry, Shell, it is so rich and careful and sounds so beautiful, from, ‘dreams slink..” all the way through to the beautifully poised ending. There is a kind of existentialist ennui in the tone but the phrasing and feel is so beautiful that it becomes music. (Miles Davis, maybe, although the poem is more lyrical, but that kind of distance and tone.) You are a fantastic poet.
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i’ve had the vilest cold in the world this last couple of weeks and realised tonight that i haven’t thanked you for these heartwarming words … you make me sound very grand indeed *grin … my dishevilled gratitude for such wonderfulness from you ….