A Poem a Day to Millennium 8 September 1999
 

THE DEEP OF NIGHT

The Deep of Night greets me
       like an empty crash-pad
       like the scene of some
                    senseless folly
           with the ghosts of my own
                   angers and addictions
                            pendant
                              penchant
                                anxious
The Deep of Night holds me
       like a whore with toothy grin
       like a wallow beneath some
                   craggy juniper
           with her frozen dance
                   twisted and gnarled
                           surrounding
                            surmounting
                             surviving
The Deep of Night smothers me
  like some eternal womb
  like some ever-dark sea
                 through which
        with lungs screaming
                my psyche
        like a desperate sperm
               squirms toward
               the vague light.