The ravaged ribcage,
That ghoul beneath the peeling stage,
Gravity-bent bone, harpsichord racks
We stack with swollen amber sacs
Of vibrato beats seething with the heat of friction
From my race through an historical fiction
(Of  forged tax collector receipts
And hospital records of symptoms and disease)
I crave release,
I stand on the rim of sleep
and dare myself to leap.  
                       To slip beneath the dream.