Snoozing Straight to the Abyss
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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