Tonight's Poet Corner: The Eleventh Hour

The Eleventh Hour
by Belinda Roddie

It's past my bedtime
and I'm seeing monsters
stitched into my pillow's lips
sashaying on their crooked hips
that creak against their chrysalis

It's past my bedtime
and I'm hearing spirits
whispering the latest news
heaping dirt on reds and blues
of bodies buried deep in grooves

It's past my bedtime
and I'm sick of staying up
just so I can sit and write
hoping that the bed bugs bite
instead of what else creeps at night

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