A Night-time Prayer

Oh how I wish for nightmarish flickers
To slick my lids and sicken my sheets.
The insomniac’s counting bleats
As she laughs at her feet and hands.
Anything’s frivolous at 2am,
Ceilings, violets, livers.
Such lamb-ish humour lacks bile,
And limp shivers smell frigid.
I’m bored of these melancholic tangles,
All I want is a violent elflock.
To gallop would be quite shriving,
I’m shrunken but I still have shoes.
You can saddle me for a sweet sweat,
Ride me hard through the sheep flock.
My chest is yours to use.
And when I wake, dizzy and panting,
With blood around my mouth,
And your demonic bruises on my breast,
I will weep at my wild veins
And whistling blood.
Thank you for your pinches, your paralysis soaring,
Your dream-drawing.
All I had was bed-sores before:
You’ve made me feel razor-raw.
You raped me into a wolf,
I’m quivering metallic,
Shiny nerve-shrieks, shattered sheer.
I’ve finally been visited by the moon mares...

But it’s just a dream.
The hooves I heard over the roofs
Were only in my mind mire.
As usual, on waking, I’m too dead to scream.