Night Piece
The cricket sings the dark
the dark to sing away.
To his own gut feeling
the frog responds.
The whippoorwill skims the pond,
intercepting in the dark
moth, beetle, firefly;
calls his name the moment he forgets
he has no name, calls his name
the moment he forgets
the moment he forgets calls.
The owl intuits the soul of chance.
The mouse, in owl claws,
with no further complaint
than a phrase of squeaks,
leaves this plane for perhaps a better
place; but the frog, the cricket,
the whippoorwill on it do not bet.
Horror Sleaze Trash 