by Joe Bisicchia

Oh, sure, I haven’t actually optically gained a gauge on this,
but there are unimaginable critters in our ceiling.
I hear them and their pitter patter Fred Astair, Ginger Rogers.

But they likely don’t wear glamourous gala banquet fare.
They are probably big and hairy with red eyes like balls of fire.
They surely drain the blood within even the bones of our partitions.

They even likely neglect to wash their claws after family functions.
See, I’ve seen them well.

 

[Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is www.JoeBisicchia.com.]

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