Bed Of Stone And Rock Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(memory of a particularly rough night)


(i)

On my bed,
throw
blankets
over bolster
pillows

crush me
from
head to toe,

the sleeping
pillow
tossed off
to the side

as a valley
to break neck
and spine,

cleaving shoulder
into square
bones carrying
a rusty
screaming torso
trapped

between hanging
legs and a heavy
head fat as boulder
planted into
the loam soil
of a clayey mattress.

The large square
pillow
adds one
too many for
a soft
massage,

when pillows
carry
crushing stones
and piercing
gravel,

and dog-
toothed
rock, its canines
and molars
chewing off
flesh.

(ii)

My bed barks
and growls
after howling
with night
draughts

and strong puffs
of wind
falling on bone
like whips
lashing me

all night, when sky
grows thick
black feathers

to fly at me
with scratching
fingers.

And pillow angles
spin more
toothy
mouths to maul

and churn,
and grind
me into powder
and dust.

(iii)

Bumps in pillows
tickle
nibbling puppies

to yelp
and whimper
all night,

when I roll
over
and over

to find the nest
that strokes
me through
to morning sun.

But hollows
in my pillows
cut off
no sooty night

blowing
into me
the glowing
coals
of my beddings

and their flowery
flames
to roast me dry,

my hairy bearded
bed pad
nibbling off
all nerves,

as my skin wears
a numbing
sheath and sheet.

A night breeze
from an air
conditioner
mumbles all
wheeled night

to deaf ears
frozen,
as I turn
and roll over.

(iv)

And a mattress
topper
spins the rough
plateau

above the hard
sandy
and pebbled foam
and grassy cotton

pinching me
and sinking
needles

through
to my bones,
as I wake up
past midnight

chopped
and quartered
into brittle
pieces of me,

as I gaze at stars
in the nebula,
my ears blowing
loudly into

a hundred trumpets
and hornets.