Horror
Lone
cat cries in the ragged night,
detached
from syntax, mess the thoughts
one
might have had of decorum
or
sentences that could make sense.
But
we know well enough the place,
unfit
for the lovely, somewhere
we
know from cheap films long ago
set
deep in Transylvania.
There
is only one universe,
and
I’m afraid that’s what it means,
and
so this is no fiction made
to
scare you on a Friday night
with
popcorn and cola to hand.
The
madness dispersing inside
us
is astronomy and, for all
we
know, the next cupboard or door
opened
will contain Vincent Price,
the
music that you loved to dread,
or
all your nightmares come at once,
a
tortoiseshell so nervous that
you
know it’s you that you have found
but
not quite as you thought you were.
