Nil-nil. Dream on.
¶ 1
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The no-score draws have settled in like winter
We sleep under six clean-sheets and a blanket of snow
Each snore draw is a draught, a phial of sleep
A white and quiet light, a rest that is silence.
But slow. What foot falls? What rapid movements of the eye?
Can we still score? Can we run in these wads of whiteness? Can we soar through cold blue constellations?
Give us goals. Give us wild dream-orgies of goals.
Make us stare agape. Make us shout in our sleep.
Make us dream.
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