Sleeping with Stanley Harbor

[I need to stop doing these...or maybe title them differently.]


The sleep clock sounds, but I am not in my sheets.
I am hanging upside-down in my closet,
Thinking of the orange detour signs and
Making a list of all the things I am not.

An unhappy echo reflects my sawdust sighs:
“As long as my eyes are on backwards,
I’ll keep doing the wrong things to
The right people.”

The chime chirps again; this time I don’t ignore it.
I crumple up my list, and
With a great effort I flip the world straight.

I crawl into bed between cold sheets,
Rub my shoulder,
And think of brown eyes and burnt skin
Until morning comes.