On The Magnatude Of The Injustice Of No Sleep

Mr. Beep’s a dirty thief
taking our best lines
at the edge of consciousness
and replacing them
with lost data packets
and accidental dyslexic typos
Eyes bleering at the liminal edge
of a drone kind of mindful mindlessness
states of being
just shy of sensible
This is not the behavior
of a practical man
But that of a raving
pain fiend
scratching away at his heart scabs
on the way down to the old road
Into the deep, into the deep
breathe not this stale air again!