Outside my window
a carpet of black rises,
hangs with no creases.
I drink the drug sleephopefulness,
stumble back to the bedclothes.
Sleep rejects me.
I lie on the bed and track
the maze of ceiling cracks.
It must have been a wrinkle
of their passing caught my eye.
I slip the soft dawn,
determine to not listen
for a clock to chime,
wonder if a sun is out,
if I may possess the day.
I turn from the bed,
brew a scheme to fill the light.
Try to not take note
of how long till dark comes back.
Take down my hat, cinch my coat.
Last edited by John Riley; 01-26-2021 at 12:50 PM.