tired,
a word I no longer
Wish to hear, whispered
sinuously,
from within my ear,
two syllables
rhythmically
rapping my drum
drained, I’m almost too tired
to come, to this
final restful state,
still dressed, as
I am, coat and shoes
still on, leg draped with
aching tender comfort
across the old leathered puff
breathing shallow from
between sleep-dried lips
moistened momentarily
shallow breath quickening the pulse
that sends waves of bestilled calm
down tired legs, blood beating
in the back of my skull,
momentarily lifting my head forward
from its final days rest, tiny pulse
felt through too tense neck muscles
as I sit skewed, bent forward at
an awkward angle, but this is just so
the most still I have been
all day, run from bed
and to bed I return,
soon,
tired,
as the moment I woke.