This is called "Here is the Poet in Bed."
I was feeling like Snoopy one day, I guess.
"Here is the Poet in Bed"--
"The night has a fever, wind, and it drags on
like a small town.
Can't sleep.
Know the deer in the brush out there
can't either under this hard air,
stomping over the country to bang on my loose front door.
Go away, damn it.
Take insomnia its milk and aspirin with you.
If you were a woman, you'd kick and snore with my luck.
Here is the poet in bed.
He doesn't know what anything means.
He's a fraud.
Door bangs-- shakes the house again.
I lie in the dark, watching the threat of my own hand getting
bigger than my head.