Cat Man Do

In some small hour we woke,
Disturbed by clattering,
Of drum machines and smoke,
A dream of dance on water,
The surreal places made,
In mind by bedtime music,
White noise eight tracks,
Spooling ambience forever,
Running round the bedroom,
Like a moth disturbed,
Mistakes our light as moon,
And circles it eternally,
It could be a horror film,
Makes us wake like this,
At this age, fearing all,
But we're old and helpless,
Not fogged or drugged,
In wars only when asleep.