Sleep is innocent.
It runs, hides in the dark,
is easily frightened by radiators,
the drop of a digital clock.
I have access no longer
to the lull of manifold sheep.
Time zones are corrupted
with a single cunning sock.
Night spins uncountable hours
in a game of blindfold;
I hear your voice in my head,
misidentify your face on purpose,
wanting always to be it.
wanting always to be it.
tk/December 2014
Deliciously soporific R.A.D. Stainforth...
