There's nothing like starting off a beautiful day with an insomnia poem.

Sleep

Dawn Potter

I flaunt my silk underwear,

one more slit-eyed bitch

clogging your cracked headlights.

Any old hag is the girl of your dreams,

and I

am only halfway down the road to rot,

thumb-bone flagging your sleek

Cadillac.

Dust blunders at loose ends,

tornado blue, thick as brains.

I slouch ditch-side,

time's cynic.

Driver, don't make me wait.

Just hit,

hit, and run.

[from How the Crimes Happened (CavanKerry Press, 2010)]