Noctambulism

Under a window dripping a piano song 
the queen is there 
Blackmail, her bedroom next 
kill her consort with a dart 
hide in the woods with scarf and bandana 
There is no bathroom in the house-What house? 
The calling card says Fine Birds 
and the unsuspecting 
to an end, we think 
but not me 
A cave deep in time 
and a crescent-blazing light 
Sorry you can repeat that No

There comes a time  
when your ability to appreciate sensation dies 
and you are fueled exclusively by shark appetite 
a thirst for continuance 
and your life becomes a slice of lava pie 
hot and unformed as when you wake in the night 
and dreams like these are dripping 
and you’re not quite out of them yet 
despite the fact a child is obviously crying 
or a cat is sticking her paw in your face.