Somewhere Near You
They’re hidden. They hear you. They lurk somewhere near you,
tingeing your thoughts with strange ink.
Mere shadows, they’re crafty as crows and don’t fear you
and if you found out there’s no air on their sphere, you
would know those who lurk somewhere near you,
would goggle in wonder, or shrink.
They sail on the winds of the thirteenth dimension
like microbes adrift in your drink,
and slip through a chink with a single intention:
to snatch you by methods beyond comprehension.
And now in the thirteenth dimension
you’re a conifer stalking a skink
while narwhals eat nectar and froghoppers ferret
for pebbles that thunder and plink,
where no one believes you however you swear it
and no one hears, “Help me!” however you blare it
(apart from the purple-winged ferret
who can hear every color but pink).
They glide through the shoals of your soul-mind or mosey
like numbats down runnels that slink
through the gloom of your room. At the moment you’re cozy
in slumber or slouched on the couch getting dozy,
they glide or they zip or they mosey
and smirk while you sway on the brink.
(Appeared in Mu Magazine)