sometimes you remind me of a nostalgia
of sleepless nights bound by my desire
to do the impossible. When you are filled, I am empty
of the strength to fight sleep’s slippery hands
but when you become a translucent bliss
I am filled with the pressure to do more
than a mere caffeine drunk writer.
my hands are energized
and upon this knot
a century has been rendered
never to be forgotten unless by death’s grip of jealousy.
my typewriter creaks…