Snoozing Straight to the Abyss

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SNOOZING STRAIGHT TO THE ABYSS

The bloody hand of consciousness 

has shattered, again, this glass

of mock reality. It grips me by 

the throat to whisper 'Wake

up sleepyhead,' and I'm awake

but still a sleepyhead, and my


these sheets are seaweed soft  

to suck me back where it’s safe. 

What good is surfacing to sink

a slow return? You know, O Lord, 

my morning tendencies. I’m cold

    and bleary-eyed, so help me kick.


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