June 8th, 2011

Aware that at dawn others’ needs will yap and nip
Until fed from the marrow of her bones,
The good woman clutches sleep’s stark comfort
And sets watch against insistent inspiration.
By day perhaps she’ll piece midnight remnants
To patch the hollow space beneath her ribs.

Tonight I smother such virtues shrill beneath my pillow
And strain for wicked whispers of my forsaken power.