Blood on the Sheets

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BLOOD ON THE SHEETS


Of course there’s something beneath

our waking that sucks our blood

when we’re asleep enough to believe 

it. Of course it thrives in the slats

of the floorboards, the secondhand 

furniture, between the covers 

of an old book and the nook behind 

the power outlets. We always knew 

this itching had to be generated

from somewhere, that even

were we to put our fingers on it

it would come crawling back 

from a crack we hadn’t yet explored. 

We’re losing our minds. Nothing is ours

anymore. After all this time,

our various precautions, to think

that we’re finally getting it.


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