Dissomnabulance

SONAR from a swooping, silent
MIDGE sees a sure bet in my
FURRY skin, sets a scheme to
WRACK my sweet and simple, serene somnambulance.

The Batbat

MIDGE, you bitey speck from planet’s teeming fauna,
WRACKing larger peers, by stealth of smallness taking nips.
SONAR pings–you sucker, now meet your terminal bite:
FURRY, blind phantom of the night bats it wings, is on your six.

Titan Snores

APNEA autonomically belies body’s control,
TITAN, self-styled, can’t decree away,
NINNY, (is that you, Titan?), can’t knit up the raveled sleeve when he’s subject.
GAUNT we all, under circumstance, health and numbered days finally outside our grasp.