“The Kind Of Tired…”
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
Laboring under the dream demons.
Sleep wake walking.
Terror beware.
Bump, goes sounds in the night.
Industrious mice or silverfish,
A spider defining territory.
A groggy stumble to the bathroom.
Pee symphony dancing on the porcelain waves.
Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!
Sleep paralysis.
There is someone in the room.
I can’t hear them.
But, I know they’re there.
Kevlar blankets for protection?
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
If you’re in the neighborhood on Friday, September, 20; consider coming by the next installment of “Dint Forget Your Art!”
There is a strong rumor that I will be given a microphone.
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