These Furies that laugh in their sleep
are the last to be reached
in a chasm.
To repel from oblivion's lip
and Have at 'em As atoms have
Nothing to cling too
And That Matters.
These Furies that die in their sleep
Are polite to at least keep the last spasm -
Hapless as a Trivial list Of Mad Pattern...
Though that Lantern Has Nothing to shine through -
And light scatters.
These wounds that laugh at sleep
They weep in a Keep Where the Night gathers.
Shelves of elaborate Script
Of a Myth of " Had Happened "
These eyes that dine on Sleep
They reap the breach Discretely Haggard...
The last gasp of Ice Nip
A tad Sadder...And That Saturn
has Ice Lanterns
More dark gladly