AndI am still blank.
Asmuch as I callout the noises in my head
they still return to muddle me in the darkness
I won’t return to bed until I’ve drunk enough of life for endless sleep
I cannot return to Slumberland
no more do they carry my torch
no more do they wait each night for my drowsy return, in anticipation it seemed they called to me.
No more doth the bell ring in the morning sun for whom I wake to greet
I am loathe to shut my eyes for fear of need for sleep.
I lie, awake as I am, I lie in bed with fellows too rude, they are sleeping, themdogs
they don’t like to wait for supper, but they’ll wait for a nod, a nudge, a pull, a tug, to let them know their meal is set to be supped.
I am alone now in this bed of bitches and all the while I think of her and lidlessly I fantasize in broaddaylight what things might have passed betwixt us.
The bitches nuzzle and groan intheir sleep, they are beautiful when restful, peaceful in quiet.
I cannot budge an inch or they shall stir and knap and knip at my heels in running, there are too many legs of theirs in running, and I in mine- too few. They shall have me whole, the lot of me, torn from bits askew.
I dream on wakefully a dreamer caught in twilight shine, I catch a lid fromdrooping down and down and down I falter in the moonless sun.
I can’t goon,I can’t I’mtrickling myself through the sieve of sleeplessness intoa moonish droog.
And if I die before I wake,my heaven’s keepmy soul to take. I will awaken when they do, chewing on me as chewers do, would that I, their chew, could askew their view of me and escape quietlike a cat might do.
Oh a trixy cat you might find me,creeping up out of reach and then you’ll find no more of me, no more bites, no more food for teeths.
I have to be very quiet now, or else I’ll wake the dogs, that hound and bey and bark too loudly in the night, we’re trying to get some rest now, you’ll wake our slumb’ring child, who weeps in downy pillows for suckle he neither has nor to which point he can resolve.
I curl into a ball real tight, and the bitches weep for warmth, my heat lacking, catches them, and they can’t quite feel what’s wrong.
I’m in my ball and I turn just a bit to find balance and a foot, I pounce! Softly!
And am over Ruth and Soot.
I creep amongst the denizens of bitchery, robed as bitches would adorn and thrown caution I’ve caught it, and left it to the wind!
I will away as they say, as quick and fast and silent, with cat like tread I’ll tread til dead, when waking dogs teach the worser bite.