I haven’t been sleeping
though I was taught to dream
of leering men cached in alleys.
I am no longer afraid of them.
When I do sleep,
my fists are clenched.
Sleep is the absence of vigilance;

I think of you whenever I listen to Deathcab,
yr poems make me want to fight for femmes and
beat Bukowski in a bar-room brawl
while running around my parents’ block in winter.