Half a minute of sleep is not
Worth the paper it’s written on.
Not when there is something new
Making its way to the universe –

It begins its reign of terror
By winning all the raffle prizes
And follows that up by crashing
The moon into the sea, and then

It’s in the corner of your mind
With all its bagged-up everything
And those teeth. It’s in your house.
A flurry of wild crimson dashes –

When you wake up you are
Rewriting lists of alarm clocks.
Your fondness for crossings-out
Makes it like trying to read water.