The Madness Rations

With all the delightfully tempting deliberation

Of the sensuous midnight dance, they

Pour their whiskey’d coffee shadows

Into the urban canyon streets.

Honest-to-God light,

As though, silently screaming,

Seeking to escape upwards.

Leaves from ground level,

Now are the panther-hours,

The time of warm-chocolate promises,

Bitter honeys with secret pillows;

The secret language of  darkened doors:

The madness-rations we take

In order to plead sanity.