Hours
3:00 a.m. stews me in its terrors
of sightless moon and breathing shadows.
In this hull of bones I pick my skull
trying to mine enough halcyon
to fairytale my eyelids into soundless sleep.
Hours hang from the ceiling fan in a dust mobile
teasing lullabies with sand.
Thanatos puts his ear to my chest.
&
“Nolite te Bastardes Carborundorum”
December’s moon sings a lullaby
to the childless, but anger roots in
tongues nursing words of resistance.
Autocracy spins the coffers will go dry
if patriots don’t produce a cradle roll
large enough to sustain the wealthy.
Love will not hive a womb with worker bees.
No rages against the icy call of twisted procreation.©Susie Clevenger 2017
Friday 55 ~ Holiday Edition
