The moon drags like an old stylus.
Earth sounds cackle –,
A dropped sparkler going out.

Dark guests afford my open door.
Blue stockinged Blake;
Kafka in word slippers.

How many titles have tumbled down
From the shelves!
How many mirrors are left to sack!

At least I can forget about reflections,
Am no longer
Afraid in looking back.

I put the midnight sun out to cool
By winter’s woodpile.
Call forth Phantasm’s cat.

Is that too tall an order…?
It sits, in the peach tree,
Tail flicking,

A silver mouse-like poet
Surreptitiously pocketed
Within the teeth. Ah – such

Ghoulish consternation.
The reminder
How fashion’s destined for us.

Stefanie Bennett, ex-blues singer and musician, has published several books of poetry, a novel, and a libretto. She also worked with Arts Action For Peace. Of mixed ancestry [Irish/Italian/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Australia in 1945. Read other articles by Stefanie.