Can sleep be called a linear
kind of thing? Does sleep live
on a string, fraying until it
snaps sixteen minutes after
midnight? The night wretches
retch into my ear and the fear
goes in. Are these glitches or
malicious itches? Would they
hold the door open for me in
better circumstances? I under
stand that lying down has to
keep happening in a hurry. Did
you dream last year? I weaken
over the beams of the sun heating
the other side of the planet. Melting
to the point of iceless eyes, skidded
by the steel runners that bleed
the top of the surface until
its too tired to hold together.
Roman Ryan 