Stingy Night
takes its time
with me.  

If I had paid
more tribute to it
I’d be in it now,

that’s for damn certain.
This long day 
would be over

and I’d be enveloped
in warm, blanket deep
blue and black.

But last night I stayed up
till dawn, playing at
being one of those

who do that. I’m not
one of those who do that
though I recall

trying a few times.
The price was too high
and I’ve stopped paying.

I’m a physical dead head
mess. The whole system’s
gone bankrupt

as Miser Night
holds back its gifts.
I’m not asleep

when I need to be.
You call it
insomnia, I call it

the payback.
I don’t dream
like I should, I call it

the lost wages
of not sinning enough.
And when I do doze midday,

twitching in my lazy seat,
Night counts its coins
and laughs, that clicking keeping me

from falling away
completely.  Night
breaks me, leaves me broke.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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