Post The Turmoil

[moments_away]

Sleep being a cure that ails me,

I long for the ale that cures me.

But since I quail to stir me

from this chair where stews me,

I fail to procure me

any.

I don't dream 'cuz I don't sleep,
But the moon is hanging like your hat
The sun comes up- well I don't see
The curtains tied up like a bat

I have to know.

Moments away from fiercely refusing to imagine a thousand
fictitious conversations.