Migraine of Sand

Lie still
and you can hear it:

satanic singing through the pipes

the screeching brakes of a ghost train
applied too late to save
four hundred lives

eternal screaming

Misery hangs suspended
swinging from the ceiling
like the bare bulb of Callan

You are cordially invited
to an evening of mental flossing
with knitting needles

You are invited
to endure a celestial choir
on bad acid
the worst since the brown stuff
at Woodstock

Angelic voices
turn to demonic croaks

Squint scrapes his fingernails
down the blackboard between your ears

Tonight the devil's music
will reduce us all to tears
at a frequency that's hard to bear
and harder to understand

and you will hear the underworld
in a migraine of sand

B.R. 07/12/2019