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The wind is bickering with the night
My poor house caught up in the middle
Pawing and retreating then pouncing like a cat
It drums at the windows and
Haunts a ricochet around the room
Of some rendez-vous echo where
The downtrodden beat downward
Into my valley, the new address of Lillith
Or Hydra, the war waging outside
Breaking careful silence like a train
Chuffing me slowly away with
The cars zooming in the wayside
Burnt out, the relay challenging
Me to find my own way into sleep
Depravation or a Concentration Camp
A womb must sound like this
Haunted and forboding. But, what foetus
Could ever know much better
Than to be scared out of new skin?
Calling for Hercules or a prescription
Some tablets and a glass of gin
To wipe away the world
Reentering anonymity and concentration
Camping myself in the ocean, a bag
For the dead, that little gold fish
Floating around within the carrier
Tonight, I sleep in the womb
Copyright © Nathaniel Köhp | Year Posted 2009
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