Tonight the old feelings
come back;
the old feelings
of enemies — long ago
when humankind believed
and could see their mistakes
unclothed as Demons.
They crouch in tree foliage
and prowl like cats
or gargoyles on the roof;
they know they work through dreams
and they know we have forgotten
our humble beginnings
in the depth of an easy chair.
They come to crack skulls open
and to tinker with your subconscious,
safe in your self-imposed anesthesia
of TV dinners and microwaves,
of ottomen and furniture never used,
of blinders and bit and reins
grown familiar;
you’ve grown resigned.
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