I cannot keep my eyes
burning a hole through
this screen. I didn't make
my goal, but maybe next
year. The ink never chilled,
it stayed hot to the touch
hour after laboring hour.
After all, I waited
until the eve to write
over thirty-five poems,
in hopes I would tirelessly
work my heart out
Goodnight stanzas,
it is hard enough to not
slobber on my mouse,
maybe I will decipher
better this rested year.
Oh well, I am not surprised,
sleep is too enthralling to ignore
and time will be soon be over.
