Insomnia

 

There’s a false siren at 2 am

It blares hot and white, metallic

As the bladder warms

I imagine the mass of cells

Speaking about me in code

 

I imagine them bragging

About how easy this will be for them

Once they’ve had their fun

To send one last jolting bellow

At 2 am,  just before my sundown

 

They’ll untie my earthly binds

Pause a beat as I begin to float

Then they’ll scatter like mites,

Cackling into the Douglas Firs

 

My eyes wide open for whatever hell

The heavens have in store

-KrossD (3/7/2025)