the day looks weary,
the night grows mold,
but nestled between the eyelids of the day
a song about sleeping for eternity
lay
wake up at 5am,
tell myself to write a poem,
forget to write a poem,
go back to sleep and call it a nap
i’m asking for a friend,
but you don’t know them
so please don’t ask,
though maybe you could, i don’t know,
in fact, lemme tell you so we can skip
the rest of this rigmarole,
and get on with our day,
but i gotta warn ya, you’re not going to know this friend,
you know, the friend for whom i’m asking,
though if you do know them, maybe don’t go around tellin’
capeesh!
Fred Aiken Writing 