A little ditty just to keep you busy.
Every night about this time
Because I can’t do it any other time
In the sleeping pit with the candles lit
Stink and sweat and soft sheets
Bleeding white blood cells
For a peaceful bed
Since all the day we’re laughing, living
Then curled in sheets of night come thoughts
Of all those other things we can ignore
By drinking, and those things require bleeding
With leeches or with pricks or burning
To push out that bad sad silence
Which can also be golden.
Whether the silence of the still and empty
Linens next to your dark head in the dark,
Ruffled like seas and then frozen like broken
Documentaries, or the quiet between barrages
Signalling a charge,
The uncertain empty spaces in alleyways
And menacing spacial holes from dead suns
Yet, the night is good, just with its many good
Gifts a wooden horse or two slip in.