Oh, I'm dreaming of you
and long to be true
But I know there's something better to do
than dreamily mumbling on cue

Sure, I remember my musty pillow
that always clings to the
faint whiff of strange dreams
and recollection
and the blankets that wish sweet dreams
and hug me better
than any wholesome, star-lit girl can ever try to give
(I beg for you to never, ever stop trying)
Foreshadowing my life
has its upside
and sorting, retelling, rehashing old nightmares
are a Lazy Sunday's worst nightmare

And you
oh you
our omnipresent seductress of sheets and comforters
who flies through windows
just to embarrass me on the bus or in front of JFK
Tomorrow becomes today,
and yesterday becomes the distance past
because I never knew of a 3AM
There's this flash
from 12 to 7

Magic?
Ojalá
or rational explanation
will logistically kidnap
the wonder
of frantically searching for that one special shoe with two childhood friends, a bear, and a teacher of elementary school lore

My own conscious beats you back
"work!" he commands
and shoves concoctions not fit for red bulls nor rock stars
down my throat
Tastes like concentrated productivity
ugh
and it leaves the horrible aftertaste
of hollow accomplishment

Dreams never need to sleep, they wait
till clocks ring out just how late
you've toiled until. But, it must be fate
for staying sane is sleep's way to compensate