Never did the dearth of sleep invigorate
such frenzied sights, our silhouettes
tossed across these walls and claw
themselves with feral disarray.
Those umbral forms reanimate
and independently collide, a snarl
of coital turmoil, until they
liquidate their nerves, deranged.
I see, almost sleep, autonomous
umbrageous bests entwine and
coalesce, then dissipate, concussant
mass, into these walls, absorbed.
Is this dreaming demons
or do demons dream?
Craig Kurtz lives at Twin Oaks International Community where he writes poetry while simultaneously handcrafting hammocks. Recent work has appeared in The Bitchin' Kitsch, Blognostics, Blotterature, Busting and Droning, ExFic, Fishfood & Lavajuice, Indigo Rising, Harlequin Creature, No Assholes, Reckless Writing Squawk Back and The Tower Journal.
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