sleeping naked in a bedroom as sweltering as a Boschian hell

By Johnny Masiulewicz

the pima cotton bedclothes
were black as blackdirt.
the head doesn’t sweat into
the sheets. the shoulders,
no. in individual-specific
physiological anomalus,no-
thing above the waist seems to

the buttcheeks, however,
buttcrack, thighs, the
“balzac” if laying supine,
the dick if prone, generate
damp unnerving pools just
this side of causing bedsores

covering just the chest
with the black pima blanket
provides for sleepable
security, leaves the “nether
regions” mercifully open to
any breeze that might sneak
through the screen window.
covering the head will
block any stray moonbeams
that blow in with the breeze

so exposed, the pasty
lower body luminesces
in those stray moonbeams

would a burgler enter the
bedroom at this moment
he might see the wallet on
the bureau, the gold Rolex
hanging on the lamp

were he a burglar studied
in 16th century Netherlandish
painting, looking at the bed
might he see a random damned,
its body half-devoured by a
whiskered demon on Bosch’s
left tryptical panel


Johnny Masiulewicz is author of the poetry collections Keywords: a dada experiment (Happy Tapir Press) and Professional Cemetery (Puddin’head Press). His work has appeared in a variety of literary journals and anthologies including Curbside Review, The Main Street Rag, Third Wednesday, Nerve Cowboy and The Alembic. A native Chicagoan, he now lives and works in Florida.

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