midnight, how your moon-sickle slouches hooks sleep, seas–– carrying witches & dreams. i mimic it, sprawling myself like okavango i mimic the waning the waning, the witching of it all. after all what saint shall–– nurse a bullet-ridden herero, placate a scream this bushman sees a lobotomy drill–– to mimic is to not forget. lyre-birds & hyenas mimic a mouth mimics a grave, guilt the ache of being god-gagged. ghosts, school-children mimic reality. apathy mimics argon–– black­­­