POETRY

 

Succubus


I always live to tell the tale
I'm always the one left alive
rattling tables like a poltergeist
masticating like a banshee
My automatic writing fills grimoires
keeps the kids from picking up bad habits
They know what they're listening for
cupping ears to breathing wall
behind which I've got her
by her cute little horns

and then I wake up
like I've been asleep for 14 hours
like I've accomplished something vaguely
have not yet reaped the rewards
I'm tired and irritable and I drink too much coffee
Oh I know there's a love story in here somewhere
I'd feel empty if there weren't
and I am fulfilled yet spent
speaking in tape loops
played back at different speeds
seeing in black and white

If I'm lucky I am conscious long enough
to write down deconstructed fogs
de-scribed epitaphs lain upon fatal pillows
children's hand-
writing
it moves three times
and then it stops
it waits
it takes cold breaths
and moves again

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