It was clear

The stars were sardines,
the moon was made of brick dust
and pyrex. It was clear;
I was fading like cut apple
beneath a short-crust duvet.

Soon enough, I was wearing a kipper
and learning about mass times
velocity and the pre-heated oven
and that king with an arrow in his eye

and an arrow through the heart
means you've fallen in love, not
that a piece of sharpened agate
negotiated your ribs, nosed its way
to the central turnpike and put an end
to the sleeping, snoring, dreaming bit.