Night Watch Poem by David Johnson

At night,

the bed stands on all fours
chattering along its rails anticipating
the spectacle.

Watching..

as I twist my body all to hell trying to make two.

I travel around the bed's wide open plains and
in the valleys find limbs that aren't smooth, and none that aren't my own.
I travel around the bed,
with a foot in the north, a knee in the east.
One hand crawls west,
and the other; an infant hand too afraid to leave the touch
and warmth of my own chest.
I close my eyes and find a horrible place.