Roaches' Legs

Roaches' legs in the budding morning,
Tinkling on my sensitive skin.

Roaches when the sun is shining,
But the room is dark and hateful,
And the atmosphere is thick-plus-hot.

Roaches when the world is dusk,
And their blackness moves,
At the corner of our eyes.

They slink away rapidly,
Alarming everything,
Fearful and grotesque.

There's a roach that crawls,
Beneath ultimate tranquility's,
Deceiving blanket.


You may feel him,
In your sleep,
If his nightmare legs,
Are bold enough,
To scare you awake.