Brickbats fly at my fireplace Upside down I see them in the fire They squeak and roast there Wings leap across the floor Fold up the wall shadows The window curtain ghost Throws my heart and dusts my throat My mind caught by the corner Gradually decides its safe Becomes a bat itself Flexes its little claws Curse its leather wings With loud, hollow pops Around the room Threatening to dash its brains Somehow at the last minute Retreats and becomes a natural glue And holds fast and slow In every other motion Making the night more interesting Becomes a cold, liquid breeze That freezesRead More →