Put your head to sleep.
Put it down down past coffee grounds
and the profound shudders you take up in spinal pin-tips
pitting whips against
nips and
slaps
and burgundy boudoirs steeping lacey slips.
Put your head to sleep.
Find a dreary sense of bliss and bleeping peace
piecing unoriginal aboriginal conditionally new old and known
thoughts about
the sun and
its counterpart,
the lunar human.
Put your head to sleep, and dream.
Dream of the fonts and praises, of the ones and races you
win and face in slumbering mumblings as you numb the crumbling
stress and
pressed nerves and
pinched tendons
that had you down in the daylight.















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