The Night Brings Counsel
The feather quilt covers dark thoughts at night.
Limbs grow slow and the body grows slack.
The mind slows, the screen drifts lazily.
Then something returns each night again.
They come advancing by the cartload,
Creeping along bedposts and chrome
Of the spring mattress, driven
By their own autonomous desire, hunting round.
Only one brings peace to this chase:
The one who brings slumber and solace
And the forgetting of words.
No more worry, no lament, no complaint—
Entrance into untainted regions.
Let us hope it succeeds again today:
The imagined committing of mass murder.
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