night poem.

guys, please comment?
on another note, lamprey mouths are the scariest fucking things ever.
-t


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I can only write poems at night
while the moon looks on like a lamprey's mouth.
The cold light settles at my window.
I want to bake black bread
and scatter the loaves in the street.
The kettle on the range sings like an urge
unspent, the last fruits hang, swollen bellies,
dripping their musk on ryegrass
yellow with seed. The ennobling question
sinks further and further in unseated hearts,
refused by speech,
while the moon gluts itself on the cobbles,
blanched teeth in too many pools of light.