i hate this dark of almost-day,
this teasing ersatz night phase,
never as long as you need.
sunrise accomplice! bringer of birds
and their songs, sharp like needles
in the night-shift-weary mind.
but barefoot, baseball bat in hand
and growling at some shaded form,
i must admit: the foreplay-dawn
wee hours - the woeful wakeful few -
may haunt my rest like biting flies,
but gird the mind with useful rage indeed.
530 is a witching hour of fell & sorcerous intent,
a conduit for the coven of the closing shift;
demon-fueled, we swing our bats,
we growl in vile forbidden tongues
at drunken indigents on our flowerbeds.
There's some wonderful images in the piece - "birds and their songs, sharp like needles", and "foreplay-dawn" stick out to me. You have a very playful sense of language, sorely missing from a lot of the other stuff I've read on here. Looking forward to more great content!
Thanks bruv! More to come!
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