When I’m lying awake in bed
In that hazy, hour-long second
When you look at the clock and the digits spell out “N-U-M-B”
I am a seesaw.
Ideas are grains of sand that slide
One side to the other
Back and forth
Accumulating in the crevices, the cracks

I imagine a box.
The box, of course, existed before my mind imagined it.
Inside are sharp, shining angles.
Because this is a dream, we can’t tell whether they’re diamonds
Or shards of a shattered mirror.
I say “we” because there are two of me now.
When we reach into the box, we stop to glance at the clock.
It still spells “N-U-M-B” but it means 4:30.
We should try to get some sleep now, I suggest.
You don’t want to, but you close the box anyway.
We don’t want to sleep because we’re scared we’ll wake up.
But we’re being watched now, so we have to.

Pop a few pills.
You don’t usually feel better after you take them but
You might as well.
After you swallow, you wonder how many that was.
After allowing fear to wash over you for a second, tell me to check the clock again.
“N-U-4-32.”
When do you suppose we’ll see the sun?
You don’t know.
You put the box on one end of the see-saw
And all the sand rolls over it.
I roll over in bed.
4:35.