night cat moans—3 a.m.
mind troubled
by recurring dreams
hating the night
because there is no rest
hating the day
because it moves toward night
scattered thoughts
like loose bits of sand
the harder i squeeze
the faster they slip away
solitude—
the condition of my existence
rage—
the element of my being
if the earth
were filled with t.n.t.
i’d put a match to the ground
tear the night air
with absolute noise
the perfect revolutionary—
no religion
no politics
no causes
no agenda
taking no hostages
making no deals
–DB Cox