Togethering again
the chaos
of days unglued,
months spun by,
compiled newspapers
piling high
with things that happened
and receipted things I did
or spent
or spent time with.

Exhaustion comes
when it has been a while
since sleep, up fighting the long losing
battle mind mine of mine
sleeplessness fixing all that is tense,
for a world insisting on rarely
making any sense.

But tonight when you are not
here, I am less
tired, and though
this is true,
I would give up all
of my order
to spend time
with you.