I haven’t come to rest
on your porch just to
be accused and then
arrested. I just need
a rest from the world.
As for the rest of you,
I don’t suppose you’ve
stirred from the comfort
of the armrest, though
some have surely suffered—
cardiac arrest and all.
Here’s where life’s
symphony rests—
a pause between notes—
not because it wants to,
but this measure calls
for it, two beats.
I haven’t come to your porch
to rest, but I feel the sleep
tickling the edges of my
eyes with the lack of inertia
that plagues the subject
at rest.