Bat Thoughts
by Chris Crittenden

a wild kick
lifted our straight-laced ancestors,

up into a cave
where there were no linear quests.

the chase at the end of the tunnel
was a higgledy-piggledy loop.


we laugh like squeaks,
cherish a doomed and bottomless blue,

as we dance
in snarls of quadrille and septet,

sextain and pentagram.

every night
in a funnel of ferocious lust,

a dying slap from a charred god
spins us flickering

into space.

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