Apostrophe at 1 a.m.

Night,

fuck you!

You’re a slimy whore, fuck you!
You are never a good night.

You never come and make me want sleep. I have never seen the sun go down and thought rest. Always has the sun set, and I’ve thought of roadsides, no traffic, and raccoons. So leave off, Night, and stay your coming, at least until morning.

So fuck you,

promiscuous!

The filtered light, the sleight, the brush you have at th’hour of disaster, so fuck off.

If you’re so hungry, feed yourself!

You feed yourself; you grow wanton things in smarmy fields, at night. It’s sick how you grow teeth to lie through. Grow, reap, bake. I’m your wheat taken my seed taken grown in moon taken from feeding streams taken, scythed, taken,

crushed

rolled

kneaded my palms, taken off,

baked off,

fuck off you refuse to.

A culinary whore, a mind of stars, purpleeyedwhereslothbityour right check and drew no blood.

Hey, Night,

you’re a bastard child and loveless to boot.

Fuck, Night, you make me want you.

Yellow roadsides with no traffic and a deer someone hit and dragged over to the grass

I am not chained Night, I don’t have to itch my eyes at night. Tonight like all nights, I’ve gone to you, Night.

Why make me do it?

Why give me a rusted saw to fix my own escape?

Drift me down to the people who dance in you,

Make me alone! I want to dance with them,

FUCK NIGHT. SLUTTISH TIME,

And I want your rosy cousin;

your pallor makes me apprehensive;

your sounds are reticent, so you are a chamber

where my sounds echo, my joys louder, woes rebounding.

Night, go soft away, please!

Silver lights tattooing my fleshly cosmos, away!

Bring the sun, bring her shy graffiti through the curtain,

let her play.

I try tapping in cut-time, and then cauterizing it,

like tossing a bus off a bridge full of people at 9 a.m.

making a little splash in the bay, and

some rusty buoy rocks out the tale a few miles off. 

tossed at 9, precipitated downwards,

at 9 a.m.

that’s such a nice and wholesome hour

9 a.m.

Nine people shoved in a corner. It’s 1 a.m. down the alley and very yellow on the bricks. Finches lark out of the shadows, rats, cats, submariney sounds in the plumbing. Scrabbles, boinks,

drip

drip

I’m speaking and you can’t hear me.