our nights are unequal
like many i have darker ones

some sleep lightly
with any stirring or
horror or regret
of what they did

they might be
empty or have
no mind

nothing is awaiting them
as the road narrows
at appointed time

our nights are unequal
we are who we are and become

i resist taking
the midnight vote

counting the
stoplight
as it goes
green yellow red
over and over

i sleep
and dream
of a private room

a pale bowl
and a yellow spoon


*