Sonnets at Night

Each night I chase the clock until I sleep
The Oxycodone, Ambien combine
to strip the vital neurons I would keep
to walk upright and in a straighter line
than those I walk when meds possess my soul
I try to read, but words must be defined
and so I write; four sonnets is my goal
My verses prove my spirit’s not inclined
to praise or be above the shit you’ll read
“Go fuck yourself,” it sounds just like applause
Such actions will release you; you’ll be freed
You’ll wander to another stage and cause
my meds to lose their potency; awake
I’ll wander, lost forever, and I’ll make

the words within the stanzas of my song
The words, you wanted nothing of their dues
If I can write, my words will all be wrong
And all my words will serve to coat, abuse
the readers who will fall asleep and read
The sleepers who will read and close their eyes
The management of poetry is speed
with words that only serve to compromise.

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