The painting from which this poem gets its name, pictured above, shows a demon laying atop a sleeping figure. The poem is fractured, and on first read not the easiest to understand, but the feelings of fear and of violation are very prominent. The feeling of being trapped asleep, unable to escape a nightmare that presses down on your chest is one that is probably familiar to many.
Too hot to
rest, I toss
my arms off
the bed. My night-
gown wet with
sweat. I feel you
— a sack of
scavenged skulls
on my chest
— sipping
the salt from
my breasts. Imp.
Incubus. Im-
pulse. You and
me like a mare
that must be
broken in
by breaking in-
to. Tamed is
how fire is
by giving itself
something to destroy:
it destroys it-
self. But who
can deter-
mine what’s inside
another?
What is risked
when we enter ...
Caliper. Forceps.
Scalpel. Oculus.
Perhaps you’re
the wilderness
that waits with-
in me. Perhaps an
other mystery, I
open beneath
you. Yoked. Harnessed.
Paralyzed.
At once a-
wake and a-
sleep. I nay.
I knock
over the kerosene
lamp. Light of
the rational
mind snuffed. Shadow
of shadows.
Because I can’t
see, I sense.
Your thumb
thrumming
my mouth. A
command. Arch-
angel. Vision
of invasion.
Insemination.
My horse
heart beating
with yours.