Give me rest.
The kind of slumber
that toddlers protest during naptime
but succumb to with a stream of drool
on their rested faces;
the kind of slumber
that enables my grandmother
to nap in a rocking chair
with a book teetering on the edge of her lap,
the sort of sleep
that wakes me up
an hour before the morning trumpets blast;

give me that,

because I'm tired
of the sheets clutching on to me
like handcuffs
engraved on criminal wrists.

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off
still slay the summers with smiles
                                            like punches
Still walking wounded through the bad joke lanes,
questions clamped under your tongue,
with an aching brain

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place.
Still rattling 'round inside these tin can
                                                roadways.
Car­rying cards after we fold the game
Poured pretty comforts down our throats--
                      so many candied gas tanks.

And I agree: these couches
                    are feeling more like graves
Will our crutches craft our coffins
'til we bobble routine plays?
Nothing changed before we knew it.
6-year blink, it's all the same.
                                It's just that

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off.
Still blur the border between wants and needs.
Still **** our thumbs when all the
                                               lights turn off.
Still check our pulses,
then start laughing loud as
                                 knocking knees

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place.
We're still too comfortable with our own kind.
Still fall in love with the same friends
                               for just a few days at a time

And I concur: these routines
                 are looking more like chains
Will these crutches seal our caskets?
Would we notice anyway?
Nothing changed before we knew it
6-year blink, it's still the same.

Mid-20 doldrums never really wore off.
Still chasing sunsets and a 10-cent dream.
Still rattling 'round inside these tin can
                                           roadways
Still placing patches over fraying seams

Still checking pulses, still on quaking knees.
Still too scared to make up our minds
Still turning parties into 3-day headaches
while we pretend like we can take our time

Can't believe we thought we'd left a place
Still slay the summers with smiles
                                            like punches.

I'm looking for hope, for a new direction,
I'm looking for a sign, a glimpse of salvation

I've wandered too long, but not too far, Knocked on all doors, except the ones ajar

Pride was an alien concept, once I knew what I am,
A void that has nothing to claim,  a life that's been a sham

I sensed the desire leave, the fire in the shadow fade away,
Living in the hopes of tomorrow, before I knew it, it was today

I'm losing faith, as I beg everyone to hold on,
I'm inching towards insanity, as my world moves on

The child is captive, somewhere in the corners of me,
I want it to be my captor instead, I want it to set me free

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

Sitting stagnant, songs of stellar
Sing sublime lines
Through minds that remain in cellar,
Never seeing the pines.

Many stagnant years have passed,
Detectives overdue,
The body brought them all aghast,
The stench, the dust, and view.

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

Lean out and contemplate the Empire State.
After all, there's nothing else left to you.
The spider-web paths of the city
Branch out too often to form the whole
picture in your head more than a few
stems out.

Where do your lost hours go?
Is there a heaven for the good ones?
The ones you spend reading Harry Potter
in Spanish?
As if it's really so much better than reading
trash like 1Q84 or Plato's Republic
for 1200 page-intervals of excess language or
A bunch of questionable assertions
backing up logical conclusions on the most essential questions,
Respectively.

When I sit with the bright light in my eyes,
it triggers the breakdown of melatonin molecules in
my blood,
Among other things.
Will this restore my Brooklyn Majesty
in swells of lightwave tides
Or will it lack the broad spectrum necessary
to push my half-developed form out of the tidal pool
to make a swim amongst
frail men in shark suits?