jixuan's writs

My mind’s a bat.

Two lone audiences,
sitting at opposite ends,
wait in knotted nerves.

A twitch of those
black leathery wings-
cause of the unfaithful wind.

It rings alarms, shrieking.
The audiences arise,
ready for the big showdown.

What does one want from
a dark sleeping bat,
with opaque unseeing eyes?

It thus fluttered its mealy wings
on the quest for a
missing psychic.

The last drops of time-sand,
are on their way
into disintegration.

The restless audiences
are ready to weep for the
seeming end of theatricals.

They are ready to stretch
their heavy limps and mouths,
and leave the bat cold on stage.

Oh bat, with a sleeping mind
What a divine mockery that
a psychic could not lend a mind!