Sleepless

 At 2 am, the dog is forensically psychic

and incessant, her bite is fictitious, 

but her imagination is vicious, she barks

the unholy host of demons back down

into the pits, she barks the pandemonium

of javelina and roof rats into the abyss

her triggers are epically mundane, she suspects

that somewhere on this earth there is starlight

 

on an abandoned bride, I try to convince

her that this is not true, but she insists Jack Cooley 

is leaving the hospital in his underwear, she insists 

that an insomniac is about to post 

a poor translation of Li Po, she insists

a negligent motel is announcing a vacancy 

that is not there, somewhere in America 

an overburdened student is plagiarizing 

a paragraph on excessive use of force, 

a warehouse worker is attempting to lift a box 

without squatting, all her 2 am remonstrations

are warranted, and she will not stop

until Lady Macbeth’s damn spot is out

 

she will not stop 

while all these atoms spin, every 

whirling speck of 2 am dust needs a warning

she is convinced that all those roots of evils 

are winding up a wild pitch, and where they land 

may be a crapshoot, but should they 

land outside the window, she will be there 

on the precipice of the couch, growling 

at dangling air, that growl is real

 

and bottomless, she insists 

her concealed carry nip and gnash 

and canine vigilance keeps the devil

in the street, revving his engine

and readying a quick escape 

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Writer's Digest: Bottomless