Three AM Left lid at it—

Three AM. Left lid at it—

tap tap tap. Bad habit

of a nerve I never hired.

Two weeks now. I'm tired.

It's not. I press the lid

and feel it jump. I never did

a thing to earn this—just a wire

gone live. The body's small empire

of revolt. I lay there, thumb

against the eye, and let it drum

its one dumb note. No code.

No meaning. Just the road

a muscle takes when it's done

listening. Three AM. I'm not the one

in charge. I never was.