Squat (first draft)

It's breaking open, spilling out,
arms and fingers crazed
to hold it direct it stop
the diffusion of the sleepless.
Chemical sleep is all of a piece -
brushstrokes on a print.
Dullness slinks around and lies down
like it owns the place;
in some ways it does
because anger won't set.
With one eye half open
through its dog mouth:
"You've had the sharp and the keen.
Get used to me."