I am continuing on the same circadian rhythm
stuffing myself fat at three, in the midst of bad company,
sleepless,
in the cover of dawn, take my head into the folds
slap the brim and be done with harsh fluorescents
over me, eucaboard, stringy dust of canvasses
the awful anticipation of the stairwell door slam!
the frame as I jump up from my deserved nap
on Sundays, still make a habit of it, on Mondays,
the same, no differentiating w/o the window peak
take your watch and drop it, persist, even in the absence of cues
go to the edge of the season leave it by my low body
at twenty-one, melatonin secretes
at two, now, the deepest sleep
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