Holding a war heroes Knife
close you Laugh in my ear,
and enter my body through my side.
Moving upward to the medial pre-optic area
then steal my very soul.
You hide it in the fridge,
rumbling like a nuclear dialysis machine
along side some sausages
it waits solitary,
changing the kitchen.
After two weeks
with Solvang hound of Satan
you call again,
slip gently through my side
This time to the hippocampus and temporal lobe,
again you steal my newly regained soul
then hide it behind the curtains.
They swish forward
moving like torn dancing parachutes,
or wind blown crinoline frocks.
I staple them down
to the window frames.
This time after four days
you return with twenty four priests,
through my naval this time.
Shooting like an express train
up to my inferior collicus,
and steal my regained soul.
This time hiding it in the wall cavity.
Staples fly from window frames.
Curtains become rigid like starched collars,
and walls recede backward.
I press my ear to the wall
trying to listen for my soul.
Begging for it to return.
I press my eye against the flat surface,
hoping to see it
all I see is people filled rooms.
It comes every night now,
slowly slipping in
through my side
upwards to steal my soul.