The sonolent exorcism

 That ghost going to come and sing a rhyme of death
It sing it on the pillow
On your sleeping breath
On the shadow on the wall
That hollow midnight pest

Yet in it´s shape I touch the ethereal tickle
No hat or claw or ravenous clown
No omen or demon or cursed eye or frown
My nightself pouces and my dreamself devours
Of whatever in this night darkness cowers

A spell cast from slumber
mist in the air
capturing foul phantoms
whose aim is to scare