Moloch Dreams

In honor of National Dark Poetry Day Oct. 7

The teardrop of sweat
—trickles, tickles
across the back of her neck
as she lies frozen
—wet with regret
eyes wide open
behind closed lids
—pretend sleeping, never peeping
at the monster
above the bed.

Leather wings move slow
—stretching, retching
As it watches closed lids
—waiting, baiting
In the smothering shadows
—silent, violent

Her heart tells tales
—bounding, pounding
with a drum tattoo
for the serpentine tail
with a scorpion’s barb
languidly waving
—searching, lurching
quietly seeking
to see if she’s peeking
at fat belly like Buddha
filling the room
in the dark overhead
—so old, so cold.

This is what dreams
are made of.

First published in the HWA Poetry Showcase Vol. V (2018)