Season of Demons
The squeaking stairs,
the creaking floors,
the quickening hairs
that stand on end —
we sleep and forget,
clean house and then
the season of demons
is in us again;
the clicking crickets,
the scratching mice,
the impish rats,
bedbugs, lice —
we try to sleep,
take a pill and then
the season of demons
is on us again;
the moaning trees
the sighing screens,
the ticking clocks
of tortured dreams —
we lie in bed,
take a pill and then
the circle of demons
surrounds us again;
faces in trees,
windows and mirrors,
cats that stare,
dogs that fear us —
we try to sleep,
have a drink and then
our doublet of demons
is around us again;
fractured glass,
broken dishes
failed intentions,
forgotten wishes —
we try to sleep,
flee the house and then
our chorus of demons
is laughing again.
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