Interim

Still light,
Night life,
Sleep is something that pushes from the east.
Where normalcy meets in the cradle of the beast,
Somewhere off the western ghost
With longitude, latitude, nautical ghosts.
Numbers are smeared on the clock
Like a cheap windshield wiper
On poorly fitted glass.
It streaks as it passes
And creaks in every
Tic,
Toc,
Tic,
Toc,
A pause.
A lock,
But daylight is breaking through the blinds
...My eyes are now opening to my mind.