In the dark of a four o'clock morning,
the stark, forbidding, tumescent silence
erupts from time to time without warning
with haunting, uninhibited license.

This, the mindís aurora borealis,
born within subterranean currents,
flare unimaginable unconscious
images of a vast lurking presence.

Wraiths in a magma magnetic windstorm,
as uprooted trees branching black in sky,
where the unspeakable is norm,
spasm through my pale reason gone awry.

Awoken, wet and shaken, I survive
with the self-love wisdom I am alive.