Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Minnesota Sleep

From out of a lair, herded with old dew dipped years
Comes fathers and mothers with muster-seed hair;
Black beast bent backs, from old windy spit years…

Days: dying, dying, faster than a seesaw can swing.
Whose children could love or leave, wooed by nights
Of a gibbous moon, no more than bits in a wick!

With blush, sultry skulking coal red wicked-eyes!
The wolf, in the cotton white hood, watches his prey:
To rip his heart out of sandalwood, if need be.

Sleep, the good sleep, forever sleep, and sleep deep:
Cries the youthful rajahs, wolfs of backyard hamlets!
Wooed and starved for their old hobnail fathers to die!

They tell the innocent lie, fast and smooth, honeyed.
Rooting out, the goose-tale swine, they call Father!
The devil-bird lauds their wickedness: animal-eyed!

Sleep, the good sleep, forever sleep, and sleep deep:
The wolf in his baaing white cotton hood cries under a gibbous moon, frolicking the latch of the coffer:

“It’s taking too long for him to croak!” —beware, the
Crook will seek a way, sly and sure, meek and mellow:
To place a Camel Spider under his pillow, the sly devil.

No: 4743/ April 1, 2015