A frozen hole in the back of the head.
Gaping and aching.
Booby-trapped and matched for each awakening.
This time or next time.
It might be fine.
It's not abating.
It's always breaking.

The odd day it ducks and dives.
Weaving away like Delilah's bucket.
Pretending to pretend.
Covering up in case it offends,
Heaven forfend.
It should offend.

Keep it safe for christ sake.
It knows not what it do - this great big hole in want of glue.
It tries and tries.
But widens and widens like legs on ice.
Or split clothing pegs.
It could mean you are dead.
Or just misled.