Shades of the Never Living

[crow]

Shades of the Never Living

There's panic in your night gown
when you wake. Did something wake you?
Maybe just, it was, that one spider
everyone is supposed to eat
in their sleep per annum.
Lustful, vengeful, reckless, a passionate dream still ruddy upon your cheeks,
you shout, "If there's ! ! ! "

Then squelch yourself, fast.

What to grab? 

Suddenly it's a clock radio you've taken into your hands,
mostly to stuff its light into your belly,
fool to think a man (could it *be* a female thief?)
would have any trouble divining her in bed . . .
You. You in bed.
Could make for a weapon though . . .

Suddenly frenetic, with no escape to safety possible,
you charge into the kitchen with your clock radio 
and actually cry, "Hi-ya!" when you pitch it 
into the empty dark,
where it all breaks down.

Dear God, where it all breaks down.