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There is a ghoulish moan
I see it at a strange distance
Lying on the bed

She claws at the devilís caress
Hot sheets strangling her limbs
Satan she imagines

Her fingers scrape at the stream
She will haul her sleepy weight
Onto the coolness of sense

The flow catches her. She wails
At the fluid paw upon her feet
Kicking off the hoof

She is silent as this screen
And twitches at the flicker trail
That crosses her eyes

Her body disowns its mind
When her voice tries to call it back
Something snaps

A cool finger grasps linen
Shaking the dark. Her mouth whistles
Enemies away and yet

She canít net those faint
Swimming thoughts which taste sharply
Like colours I can't see

© David Incoll 2001

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Copyright by David Incoll 2001