The Book Thief, Poet Thief, Kind of, Sort of, Not Really

Because I could not stop for sleep, come on, world, it’s almost 6 AM
Everyone else is doing it
Give me a fair shake and let me go down the back alley into a dreamscape

But there’s a long line between night and day and day and night
It is written in the stars, in the palms, in the cards
Don’t move. No one will get hurt. Put the gun of anxiety down.

Online, still. 6:30 AM. It’s safe to go through drawers left open,
letting me live in your shoes and dinners and photos
until I am done meandering, fearless, an easy steal

Borrowing cookies you have on display on the table, on the wall, on the shelf,
wondering if your smiles are more show and tell than you intended,
draining the pool and seeing the crumbling, cracked floor for the first time

and I am still awake but smirking, like the burglar.
There is blue light beyond the windows
And hours to go before I sleep.

One thought on “The Book Thief, Poet Thief, Kind of, Sort of, Not Really

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