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none slept forward
too little sleep back

the setting sun
clocking off early at 4pm
chuckling to himself
knowing the plight
of the insomniac

a bed in the hand
isn’t worth two hours of hush

darkness tarries
inside and outside
from cigarette marred lung
to disbe-lief falling from trees
mourning the loss of lush

don’t judge a bed
by it’s cover

laying sombrely
lower than any shadow
cast out into the wilderness
surrounded by every dream’s
jilted lover

the snore
the merrier

envious glares
at those yawning, stretching cunts
whilst keeping copper coins
on my eyelids – forced shut
for the stygian ferrier

you don’t snooze
you are a loser.

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