As I lay me down to sleep,
I look for all things quick and cheap,
A screen, a scene, needles and pins,
A croon, the moon, and static limbs.
Tension draws out needle thin,
Rhythm and rhyme of hand on skin
A croak, a choke, a daydream seized,
A roll, a goal, some silent pleas.
Too many eyes are watching me,
They're nowhere I'd prefer they be,
In air of wax and cinnamon,
Alone at night I steep in sin.