A demon dream slammed up against
(Fuck's sake lock it now! But no key came.)
a door grew Seth-snout, yet I held
against the push that sapped one's very being.
'You shall not pass! You shall not pass!'
A pale green light withdrew down corridors.
Yes. Yes! it was you-know-who! And all that!
I woke to that dark-thingy knowledge. Sharp
out of there; went down; had glass of milk, shaking.
One other tattered fragment of nightmare
hologram remained.
A cheater at exams,
prevailing with deep angst for my cover-up.
Nearly doubled-up, (So she's found out?)
and sprayed all the milk about the place;
but it just wasn't that bloody punny.
I guess we all fail when our demons roar;
but next time I'll just fling open the damned door.
...
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Poetry"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
