A Portent

by on January 15, 2010 :: 0 comments

Even with it’s newly-found social popularity,
the Night still has the foresight to pencil him in –
That damn dog outside.
I could just kill it.
It barks in some lost, chaotic rhythm
And that mercury vapor
seeps through the blinds
The nights are no longer quiet, no longer dark
ever since I acquired a firearm.
Truck passing
waltz across the ceiling, and drunkenly collapse onto the wall.
It’s hot in here
I’m breathing warm honey.
My ample bed-mate
sighs calmly; stirs
silken and cold
bathed in the acrid perfume of old powder and potential energy
I wait, stiff and straight, for sleep to take.

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