My mind and my brain are forever at odds
Like finicky children sitting in the corner
Of a hideous room painted canary yellow.
While circadian rhythm dictates sleep
My thoughts are on the figures of a TV screen
Activating suprachiasmatic nuclei
the way a shot of vodka does my nerves.
Twenty five hours reduced to twenty four
but I could have used those extra sixty
minutes thinking about absolutely
And it would make a whole
lot of difference when the first hour
comes rolling around at the sound
of a muffled alarm
Rousing sleepy eyes…
But bright eyes.
Chances are the monotony
Will be infinitesiminally bearable.
I’ll take those odds any day.