The clock is a map with one
direction. Pushed forward,
struggling, tired. The world
wakes up when I’m asleep.

Deep in the fight I always fall.
I step on the tiger trap clapped
in darkness.

The world wakes up when I’m asleep:
Vultures land in the streetlight to
calculate equations.
The moon sprouts tentacles and
hums like a Theremin.
Neighbors swap houses and tell
secrets on the radio.
Rats make stunning echoes in the alley
speculating on the market.
Psych ward saints sneak past nurses
to swim in backyard pools.
Pampered suburban trees hold spectacular
wrestling matches.

My eyes open with a snap like
being slapped instead of kissed.
And every time I wake there’s the
same longing for what I’ve missed.

i like it

very nice write