White walls, half concrete and half plaster, blur the edges of my workspace
In the infomercial hours of the night,
as I'm chugging away at my laptop,
sometimes I can't discern the borders of the room,
transforming my bed into an island
Sailor's pinstriped sheets adorn a bed large enough for three
Berber carpet waves of sleep depraved dizziness help pull down the anchors on my eyelids
All's well for a while,
but the stars don't come out here.
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Thanks for leaving a comment on my blog. I'm glad you liked the story.
ReplyDeleteYou're a poet. I admire that. Poetry is not something I can do, but I really admire those who can.