A silent room—
purple walled
heavy curtains
pulled tight but
light sneaks into
crevices like in
a sandstorm.
There's too much
going on outside
that dirty white door;
little feet ground-
pounding, dog
skating on floor,
crying, head-bashing,
door-slamming
my door is closed.
Time, time, time, time,
won't stop for me. Doesn't
care about cool sheets or my
wife's shampoo-smell pillow.
The big hand lurches forward
at the spurring of the second hand
and their linear dance in little corners
of my house enforce a law much graver
than any hope of sleep or dreams or rest.