Outside my window a vapor appears.
Spindly fingers of oppression looming
above our heads. Writhing, hard pressing.
Fisted hand tightens grip, corrals.
Seducing us to sleep, while we stay up
all night.

Pass the powder, nose bleed, powder-food
group. Mirror? Razor? No please. Not me.
I wish to see through my pain.

Disguised as swaying hips they beguile us.
I’ll stand guard as you half-sleep.

Don’t become distracted by the
swaying hips too long.

Run.