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The trees, uprooted from the soil Topple toward the moon. I make my running Through miles of vertigo. Earth grapples each footfall Which cuts away clean To the next landfall - Within sleep, the heart's drum Slows to winter's rhythm. A door creaks, And the watchguard's query Fingers apart the eyelids, And the head shakes away blackberries, Seagulls, sun, beachsand - All the paraphanalia of irrelevant dreams. Muscles slide barefoot to the landing. The masks of night peer from the cobwebs. A Dis-world waits At the bottom of the staircase. The cobra's hood Coils in the shadows. Descending, the floorboards creak, To remind one. The door is closed. The windows are closed. The locks are closed. Outside, a neon sign Hangs in the night. The cat, lynx-eyed Egypt, Slides past my feet. |
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