| Three thirty in the morning The candle stump squats On wax legs, two streams of wax Down the sides, claw footed Clutching the candlestick Like a dinosaur with skin The color of fossilized bones Its plumed red head hunched Between arched shoulder blades The last of the wine Sticks in the glasses undrunk The record spins at its end Click, click, click Now is time for incense dreams Crushed grape dreams The satin sleep of wine |
| Sleep |