the days most tired are days
of most difficult sleep - ease in keeping wake
body worn limp
mind fresh, no lull in brainwork

who could sleep
when instead they could count refrigerator cycles...
when my clock fails to shut me down
i count rhythms of outside noises
like city dumptrucks
familiar taxicab motors en passe
neighbors doors closing as they leave for their commute
and that refrigerator...
so routine in its job

a dark, silent room for me
is a loud, loud, loud place
a concert hall and the stage concerned with
electrified tools and powered music
so loud my own thoughts drown

my fingers, appendages
always so close to rotating knives
whether in bed, walking the sidewalks or reducing material
each impurity in current or
knot in a board
is an alert of my proximity to

so i argue
in this state of mind
drunk with toxic thoughts
caffeinated sawdust
chasing sleep with so little energy
can only keep me up