Poetry

20.

I’ve stayed awake too long
too many times
not to close my eyes
before the hour of nine.
Wouldn’t that be something?
Like a wormhole to another dimension.
Dreams, usher me gently
to this new reality,
a waking paradise
where my eyes
feel sharp as arctic wind.
Good night, good morning,
I’ll see you when the sun is up,
probably way too high in the sky.

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