flat

you pull out of the lot

there's a dead squirrel 

bleeding at the entrance

and you hear the  thunk

of your right rear tire. just when you've

got a handle on the nuts

 an engineer comes

by with a can of pressure-

sharing open secrets ,

selling your skepticism 

for free this time. 

at dinner you spill

the wine

drop the noodles

fall asleep on the couch

neglect the clean up.

but the brocade jacket

makes up for all this

at least in your mind. 

sleep is a land 

you travel with open 

eyes. eyes meant for

closure, eyes of basalt

and miniature epiphanies

buried in the iris. 

close them now

get to the bottom 

of awakening.