Evil Dreams, 10/20/92
Awaking cold
this morning, I hear
cunning crows bark out my night
secrets from atop
wet black balding
trees. They spied me
last night, wild again.
I haunted the field, stalking
newborn rabbits, mice.
I gnawed timid
bones and still taste
blood. How fresh your pink
face laughs, unaware of my
noctural feasting.
I wish you would
hold me again
in the darkness wholeness
of your pupils, like before
we slept last evening.
I prayed in vain
to be anchored
tight, for once, against
your human warm sleeping pulse.
I fear you will hear
the crows mocking
me, warning you
of my evil dreams.
They claim I'll try to devour
you, too, some desperate,
flesh-hungry night.
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