I'll watch
closely
the light
slivered
under your door
like a piece of paper
waiting,

I cannot read
again,
my eyes are blurred
in the smokiness of night
when the rods
(or is it cones)
are working double time
unencouraged, and
under appreciated.

Under the pillow
lay my head
curdled in the fluff
of kamikaze non-geese.
Synthetics to muffle
any noise
that I will not make
anyway.

And I am thinking
of ships,
and the non horizontal
which is the inevitable position
for slumber
and wonder,
Does crooked sleep
lead to crooked
life?