Some late post-meridiem;
There were several hours already tucked beneath his pillowcase.
You know how it is when a hard day pushes you
so deeply into your mattress springs.
You know how it is when your exhaustion is
so profound that
your body can’t spare you
even the energy to dream.
A pocket of acrid aroma
crept up the stairs, lightly wrapping it’s smoky digits around banisters
& passing by hung photographs whose subjects were as still as the man who slept.
One wonders if that night,
the bitter & black billow paused at the doorway
& seeing that spent figure sprawled sloppily about the four-poster bed
it thought to itself, “should I even bother?”
Though, the smoke drifted into the room, danced all about his form & up into his nostrils.
It lingered on his eyelas