by Vincent R. Pozon
They come in the dark, slithering so,
they need the night, preferring you asleep,
your cabinets unlocked, fists unclenched,
they come askant, lean over your bed,
an inch away from your head, they come
to hear what clatters inside you,
They smell the seething that you exhale,
what philosophies are wined and dined
in your dreams, and with whom you discourse,
the others will skulk about the house,
room to room, they will lower their heads,
listen to the dreams of your children.
they breathe in brooding, inspect
if there are mists of communists,
and other thoughts they see as threats
these are specters that can bite and harm,
I will watch the shadows well, I do not
want them to tiptoe into my sleep,
into my dream of calm in the countryside,
however long this night, I must sleep
with my eyes half-open and my mind ajar.
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