Circadian

I sleep. My body
alive at night
reading with the blue light
filter. Time to travel
through stories. I never sleep
enough. The morning
late enough for panic
I’m resigned to traffic.
Off-kilter, each step
teeters on total collapse.

I sleep through the totalled
morning. My body
resigned to filter time,
traffics panic enough at kilter
to sleep. I travel with light,
never reading for night’s
collapse, each step
enough. The off-blue
teeters on. I’m alive.
Late.