I’ve Forgotten How to Sleep



I am jealous of

lazy, sleeping men who take

the “standard” time to


Fall asleep in now

rather than blink endlessly

as the dawn prepares


I have containers

of salt, grit, cold metal dust

behind my eye-caps


I gaze slightly blind

around the soft chill of room

one, or none with sounds


Trickling throughout

streets ahead and beyond me

cities flying past


Saturday Morning

The sea sits as my desktop background
The pixels clang, the wind of the loading cursor whirrs
Falling into this morning again
I’ve only been awake for half an hour.


with straining eyes,
she holds a simple glass
milk poured from the grey dark
walks outside to the blue dark

with burning ears,
she breathes in the pinpricks
they fade in blinks
everything still, a silhouette

with white skin,
she passes two hours by
sipped, swigged, taken
the glass is empty

with naked feet,
she sees a sky blushing itself awake
one hundred metres from
a better smudged yesterday