Because of my bad dreams I lie awake
in bed and toss my sheets until the light
oozes like honey through the drapes, and Night,
dispelled, slinks darkly westward like a snake.
All through the day a feeling I can't shake
enshrouds my foggy brain like linen gauze--
uneasiness without obvious cause,
not lessened by what catnaps I might take.
For when I sleep, my bedroom windows quake
and shades with spider legs and tiger claws
crawl over creaking floorboards fit to break
under their weight; they draw up to their height
to smack their slavering lips and stretch their jaws--
then I wake up, my hair and knuckles white.
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