Sleep naked, but do not sleep walk
Camouflage no flaws,
Give no one pause
To wonder, ponder how exactly you got those scars;
How far away you go,
Even as you call
Out her name in sleep talk.
Do not leap unconscious
Off some dream precipice.
Pour hot smoke down your throat
And don’t admit to just how high,
How tall, the fall appears.
When you dare to drop down
Do not kick awake with hypnic jerk
Lyric, rhythmical quirks.
Don’t scuffle or crawl, like puppy chasing trawler.
Do not whisper him awake
When sibilant pussycat, dark beady eyes of a bat
Bites your arm from beyond the mosquito net and
Will not let go.
Rub softly the pain that does not dissipate with the dream.
Do not whisper him awake.
Share your bed,
But only with your laptop,
Be warmed by its electric heat
Hear it count out
Its 1024 electric sheep.
Kampire Bahana (@vugafrica) lives and writes in Kampala, about this city, about Africa, music, art, resistance, love, women, culture, politics and all those other things that mean everything and nothing at once. You can find more of her writing at Vuga