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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