Kevin Young
I wake to the cracked plate
of moon being thrown
across the room-
that'll fix me
for trying sleep.
Lately even night
has left me-
now even the machine
that makes the rain
has stopped sending
the sun away.
It is late,
or early, depending-
who's to say.
Who's to name
these ragged stars, this
light that waters
down the insomniac dark
before I down
it myself.
Sleep, I swear
there's no one else-
raise me up
in the near-night
& set me like
a tin toy to work,
clanking in the bare
broken bright.
