Two A.M.

Sleep is what I crave now.
Not food, or drink, or fame,

not a new car, or a new suit,
or a woman who loves me. No,

give me sleep. Eight solid
hours beneath the sheets

and blanket. My head upon
the feather pillow. If it's raining,

or even snowing, all the better.
Toss in some wind and lightning

and I'm asleep like a hound dog
after the hunt. The job is a memory

the ex wife, the kids, the lawn
that needs mowing.

All of it and them can wait.
I'm in my zone. Sweet sleep

take me into your arms
and let the curtain fall.