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At five on Monday morning midwinter
He awoke from a slumber tossed
In dreams, couldn't dream
Any more, went to the door,
Down the stairs.

Shivering in a long dark corridor
Outside the frost was silent, dark, long
In the door downstairs burst open.
He appeared,
Switched on the light.

In the room, bedbugs blinked.
He slumped into his chair and stared
Outside, outside a single car
Whistled past, belonging to someone
He saw with the bedbugs, all.
They grew circles at his feet.
He yawned, sniffed, blew his nose,
Spit then stamped them into the floor
Rose wearily to go back to bed and dream
Better dreams.
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