The crossover to sleep is a

distance unmeasured.  Awake is

sacrificed for a corner of quiet;

a temporary market until delivered

before voices without images and

shapes undergoing changes.


We toss our thoughts like the sheets

flowing over us; there’s an unwary

boldness rising into hero status.


Night watches us.  Shadows follow the

twists we make, listening to 

unintelligible words and answers

following without the evidence of



Morning is our release into reality as

we complete scribbled lists and

visit places we favor.  Night is not far



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