at the foot of the bed
this morning
your demons patiently
awaited
tapping their talons on the bedpost
they breathed heavy sighs
and filled with impatience
until they could stand it
no longer
they pole-vaulted onto
my back
pried open sleep-filled eyes
blasted horns and trumpts
banged on tambourines
and rang bells
their screams
and noisemakers
deafening to my ear
invading the last remnants
of a troubled sleep…
they hold me hostage now
old poet
seems they packed up
and left your last cave
when your cancer
arrived
kicking them out
of your belly and bowel
and fading them
from your blinded eyes
and fingertips….
to take your place
they needed a new
weakened subject
to prey on
seems they followed me here
filled suitcases
with their evil and darkness
and set up house
in the notebook
of letters, exchanged between two
troubled souls…
they’ve nested there now
invaded my spirit
dragged me to the depths
all the while moaning
crying
for their one and only
dead host…
this notebook has brought
nothing but trouble
to my door and table
it has ruled me
caught me up in yet another’s
web
it has rolled me up in sticky binds
and sucks the bloodlife
out of me
day after day
night after night
as i wrestle
and fumble here
tapping into your darkness
and the histories
behind your words…
its time to bury you
once and for all
old poet
time to set up
a funeral pyre
for your demons too…
our shared past
and our memories
are as dead as you
are..
and i have
a little more
life
left
to try
and
figure out
Old poet’s
Words
On brittle
yellowed paper
Build
Kindling
For a new fire
And,
The warmth returns.