MY CRAWLINGS

MY CRAWLINGS

There they follow -  on the periphery visible
only a quick turn of head catches a glimpse
as silhouettes move
back to waiting.
.
It's the silence of
crawling things around me.

The movement under the sheet that is
not my own; stopping when noticed.  And
the cold grip around my ankles, the pulling
dry scrape of breath from my lungs
as I drip in a room where water is frozen.

It's the silence of
things crawling around me.

The dark stroke on my nape inducing sleep
from which I struggle to wake; deeper, under, down
darker, weaker, to a black rent opening
slowly along the floor.

It's the crawling things
surround me.

The bog holding in place, preventing movement
the smell of bacteria converting flesh to food for
the slitherings ooze over which
black water skims.

In the silence of
crawling things to me.

Fear paralyzing, a thick yellowed quick
that jagged nail opening my lips from an attached
knotted joint; as there it smokes stuffed paper
made of humans thin. 

Spindly legs jerking taunt
testing its web on me.

Puffing a dull orange into red super nova
smoking a shrinking ember of burning hair
inhaling, drawing, expanding, filling, blowing;
exhaling second hands

to crawl...upon me.