On a corn husk tick I slept.
Rough boards, windows with no glass.
Through thirsty sleep, dream\'s visions crept.
Birds fly through and at night bats
I hear them fluttering oer head.
On my pillow they would walk.
On my foot two punctures bled.
Vampire remnants. Morning, six o\'clock.
A spider on my bleeding toe.
Bedding lumps, like roots beneath loam.
I felt movement in the husks below,
where rats had made their home.
Twasn\'t a dream that the mind makes.
Lifting the tick to shake them out.
Not rats, a den of poisons snakes,
that now came pouring about.