In the Company of Giants
“The animal night sweats of the spirits burn”
Adrift among damp sheets you turn
and turn the pillow over seeking
the cool side that isn't there. You turn
your face to the window. Rain smears
the glass and beads the streetlamp's light.
Tires hiss along the pavement.
You turn away.
Driftnets of feeling
wash over you in the dark
and finally carry you down to sleep, to dream
in fragments half-remembered when
the sun pours in across your face.
you awake to the perpetual
daily crucifixion: pinned by desire
to desire, you wriggle like an insect.
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