Endless night
Of whispered hexes.
Sleepless eyes… 
It vexes. 
But a writer’s wrist, 
It flexes, 
Racing dawn to break.

Sure as the shiver
That shakes my bones,
Shed my fear
To the distant moans
Of alarms
On bedside telephones,
The restless
In their wake.

I will cherish
The exchanges, 
Brash and brute, 
In midnight mansions. 
Be not mute, 
But flick my cigarette ash
And shoot
Guns and glances, 
Gather loot.

For dawn is a wedding;
Wind and wear
Wrap like rings
And fingers dare, 
Using only words,
To spare
Their feeling, 
Now acute.


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