Sleep is locational. Rest—a condition not exclusive thereof.

i was dreaming while you were—

everyone here     alike     deep colonial sleep      suburban come slumber      linoleum     phylum
things that fit    stilettos click marble    procession to temple     shopping mall     Penny’s Sears
& dead leaves to bag     snow days      home away from       moms exercising        power walking
shady lane    drippy spring    grill summer sprinkler then

no happy rooms no happy rooms no happy rooms no happy rooms no

The other night i dreamt i could forgive my brother—

Ability to rest is a condition generally associated with the settler     with the man body     with
white. 

You make your bed you lay in it. There is a bed
& you lie to lay in. 

Sleep being a more visceral experience of rest.
A sleep. At rest.

The other day a professor in practicum made a joke about no longer being able to make those
kind of jokes. Approx 63% of the class      of the earth     wanted nothing more in that moment
than rest.

Do you hear so many poets often white often poeticizing their awakening  post  The  Election
saying how tired they are & how we’re all like      gone totalitarian now?      Is this news     you
wonder      is totalitarian what happens when settler civ devours its own?      Anyway      could
you maybe use your library voice someone is trying to  

Sleep is locational. Rest    something else.

i lit my candles—gifts  from  M & T—set them next my mattress straddling floor Lubed what
seemed like my entire mid section   what felt like it  What was mine  Ran my hands     palms
down       fingers splayed & bent at three joints       gently      across my whole body. Fingered
myself & fingered again  Put the slightly larger than beginner’s level plug in my ass & rode it
no hands       or rather        hands       along my thighs         fingers pushing north at perineum
fingers dragging over my little belly—mine—& finally holding my heart           i came like that
hands on sacrum    breathless    at rest. 

Sometimes we play our coward cards     other times are like     legit tired. Are there no happy
rooms?  Perhaps  the ability to sleep through is conditional on having never felt the question
in your body. What belongs to me?

Everything depends on body. 400 years plus    how is sleep    is rest possible?
    elsewhere    anywhere    everywhere?

Friendship is a place of rest. Sometimes sleep. What’s it look like to thrive in states of crisis?
We body striation. We body overlap. Impossible friendships  at the  tip   tip  tipping point of
melting. 

Friendship is so romantic. 

i am broken i am not you are broken no you aren’t

Please—

hold me in your arms
through raven dark. We close our eyes
to keep them

little spoon    big ladle    your tender arms    hold me