Night Terrors on Dow Avenue

Friendly faces and once-safe places are transformed in the darkness of childhood nights

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Felix the Cat rolls his

clock-eyes and mocks 

anynight o’clock.


Shadow puppets slither

under the yellowy door

with no lock.


Tiny Tears, full of dread,

face down

on the bed.


Tear-soaked and broken,

stuffed friends slowly

open one eye.


Uncle Wiggily’s in a tizzy;

thick black terror

flies by.


Secret places, silent spaces,

sweet drunken eyes

comfort and pry


as shame-stained

tobacco’y fingers

lift color from

shredded skies


Eight long night-years

between tocs and tics...

Cinderella’s feeling sick.
 

Oh, purple moon,

summoned and thin...

Summer. Fall. Winter. Spring 
Where has Mother Goose been?

Arrivederci, all the king’s men…