Nod off slow motion sleep
to watch sinking ships
and exanimate towns
from the refuge of ceiling vents
Blanket yourself in overexposure
beneath a jury of stars
judging every clandestine
movement the night nurtures
Surrender yourself
to the fan’s breath
whispering in soft syllable
of the hour’s passing
Hold dear the dreams
your waking life sells
in hush post card images,
a guiltless paralysis
of yesterday’s placidity