We are the tentpoles that hold the night up
like the clerk says at the store under the
flickering lights, “Someone’s gotta do it.”
We scribble and scramble under the 12AM
clarion call, a division between dream’s
heroes and a dumb clock’s limitless zeroes.

We are the janitors of glittery whimsy,
circling the edge of horizons for all
tomorrow’s parties, all yesterday’s
shipwrecks, we sift through thoughts so
you can press one thank you for
optioning to possibly stay awake with us.

We are the scratch and dent products
who still manage to show up on time,
we know well the cadence of crickets
while your snoring just patented a
lifestyle product- we dutifully take
placebos as ZZZs do-si-do around the planet.

We are the sleepless but not without
rest, we have whimsy and carefree
colors that could give a wink about
another minute unaware of our teetering
trepid feet, there is thrill and thrall
in not sleeping at all, damned if I miss a beat.