WHAT IT'S LIKE NOT TO SLEEP

Chaos brain long chains of safety pins holding in
From denim to denim chewed off finger nails and Half-Cabs
Sheep counted to four, or is it five digits
An M for each middle finger and every other finger thumb and toe besides
Threadbare couch and neurons each spark and come apart
Axons and dendrites and zippers and red cushions.

Just. Focus.

Chaos brains and long chains of nonsense written in
Ballots counted, recounted, recycled into schoolbooks
Losses the foundation from which kids learn to...
Lose again? Lose and lose and loose and looser
I'm a loser baby, so why don't you thrill me.

I want to write songs that start off feeling like you woke slowly,
in the middle of the night,
to find the covers have come off you in your dreams.
Then, you become increasingly aware of the cold permeating your bones,
starting with your feet.
You shuffle awkwardly in the dark to get the covers back on without waking your lover.
Finally, you are covered,
albeit with twisted sheets,
and warmth returns and you dream of flying,
of beautiful skies,
of lovemaking,
stiff drinks,
and deep, deep, satisfying breaths.