It often happens late at night.
I see myself with lizard sight:
A foetal man with fatal flaws
Engrossed in some subsomnic fight.
I scuttle down the eastern wall
To watch my arches rise and fall
In step with rapid charging drums
Of some subdermal martial call.
I land upon the bed to scan,
Despite the roaring ceiling fan,
The dampness of a bloodied field
In some subthermal shape of man.
And back I go into my head,
To see the lizard flee in dread.
I hear its fear vibrate so clear
On some subsonic brahman thread.