I woke too late,
saw great delusions of
democracy,
and bland reflections,
distorted
by the guiding light.
I longed for it,
the silence of the peace,
too soon I dreamed
in restless mode
about ice crystals
of my destiny.

It always does, this thing
called simple solitude
it twists my ventricles
expands a willing skull,
and makes me crazy,
eyes set apart,
the Hulk, it seems incredible,
a hue of green appears
Neanderthal my hands
and mesmerised my eyes.

A sound of human feet
on Spanish slate,
chiffon now falls away
and waits, for the duration.
I dream of garden patches,
of flowering petunias
and radishes with frosty heads
as mermaid fingers trace
each curly hair and at road's end
they fail to rest as would have been
clearly the normal thing to do.
Instead there is a breeze
of pure deception in the air
a velvet welcome wagon,
with open hatch, and which has lost
somewhere, sometime
its covering thatch, oh yeah.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-worked-late/