Mr. Sleep

by Michael Passafiume

As October midnight rain
kicks at the windows,
as baseball players’ shadows
dance across living room walls,
as the ghost of your grandmother
rises up from between floorboards,
Jeeza come-a soon. You gotta pray
for da soul,
as Mr. Sleep slowly undresses himself,
couch cushions biting into
your back, your ass & you plead,
Please, stop, 
as you envision co-workers retiring,
you can’t imagine ever doing this yourself,
& something beyond fear
peels back your balls,
as mockingbirds mock and children
are ferried to school on the wings
of hummingbirds,
as sad bastard music at the coffeehouse
just makes you sad & even your pen
has no tears left to shed,
as the body betrays, the mind calcifies
& your frenemy, Time,
licks his chops & waits,
as the quiet disquiets
& instead of turning the television off,
you turn the volume up,
as Mr. Sleep croaks sweet nothings
in your ear & you plead,
Please. Stop.