New Notions.
The clock-face of midnight, assaulted
and pierced by block
waits looking askance at my inky pen
when witching hour stops.
Labour\'s oil long burnt out leaves me
still making verse
while shaping new notions so Calliope
I bid you have mercy.
My mind may finally yield to sleep for
words dunked in rhyme
strung on short lines flicker as caution
re-views one more time.
Soon now and dawn will be brushing
my window to see
me yearning for rest when todayness
stirs and tries to shake me.