El sueño de la razón produce monstruos.
When reason sleeps, monsters are born

1:00 AM

… threshing from side to side

… mouth open at the pillow’s edge

… flapping fiercely as the sharp hook breaks through dry lips and roots in the roof of the mouth

… shadows walk and talk in silk cocoons

… memory’s greasy pig races through the ring sliding through the hands

… uncertainty rushing upwards to daylight and grief on dawn’s altar

… some forgotten crime that returns each night to hunt and haunt

… pouring forth grief as a tap pours water

… subliminal ablutions on one’s knees at each station of the cross

… black beads hanging from outstretched arms

… a clacking of necklaces

… of rosaries and false teeth

… white and bright and spotted with fool’s gold

… counterfeit mirror of corpulence with flesh and bloody hands handcuffed like a rabbit in the headlights of this oncoming crash

… the car’s bones lying beached on the bleached white shores of an illusion

… continuous clicking of claws and clacking racket of needles knitting outwards

…  a tall guillotine with curtains moving

… a knife edge unseen on the wind slicing the body’s earthbound cage of skin and bone

… a white rabbit lives in the moon

… burrowing back into the long dark tunnel of night

… the fly’s brief high-pitched note

… a black mote angry against the cobweb net

… wild words waging war

… harsh black scars hack tracks across the wilderness …