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Poem

two mice
in my room
at night
gnawing as
if a clock
one from my
bed to the
left and the
other to
the right

they exude the
illusion of time
getting past
every trap and
so their rasping
dentures
on wood
one the second
the other the
minute hand

and so they carry
on carrying on all
hours of the night
as if they want me
to once again set
the traps for the
exact reason of
being to be able
to smell and maybe
take the chance to

taste peanut butter
other then wooden
floor boards or
boring wine corks
that surely have
corked by now
yet now the day
and a day of
silence for
storing

their energy they 
will nightmarishly 
keep me awake
tonight as only
they see as no
light so their
stirring life
begins and
again the
gnawing

this ain't no
metephore
because my
wife i met her for 
a reason
and these
mice are
just 
teething
but teasing

but they
should've
listened to
the crickets
before eating
them because
that'll be the
day before i
cry but that'll
be the day

before
i die

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