- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Night Things
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The night was nearly edible
Thick with syrupy darkness
It cloaked my meager vision
And nearly was alive
I take that back, It was alive
A true alive and wandering stranger
It velvetly rubbed across my skin
And tasted me out of curiosity
Things, vicious things
Flew overhead of me
I cannot see what
Only hear their leather wings
Bats, perhaps? No, larger.
And then there were the shrieks.
The long piercing wails
That stopped abruptly, choked off
The flapping slows then stops.
And the night is not quite as stifling
These things have fed
And like sheep, we wait
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