bats

moderately uncomfortable
is a night without sleep.
the second night rolls around
and your eyes, soul, mind,
they’re all seeing things.

night number three
and i plea in desperation.
let me sleep
or let me rest in a facade
of living bodies.

embalming is funny.

though i’d rather be cremated
that’s another story.

slow motion come the minutes.
they circle around me
like bats in a belfry.

and now that it’s mentioned
i either saw or either dreamed
of the biggest fucking bats
I’ve ever seen.
their wingspan prevents them
from maneuvering
through the trees.
perhaps they are me.
it only matters that they fly
however clumsily.

casting radar through
the night,
otherwise they are blind.
their own echoes lead them.
perhaps this form of
narcissism
would never dare
deceive them.

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