it’s a white sheet
off white
maybe grey

it’s in the sky
by the moon
but seemingly just barely

it’s above that tree
the one by the window
that you look at everyday
but not hard enough
because there’s a bird nest right there

it’s blue
and the camera doesn’t get that
because when i raise my phone
it comes out orange
yet not the thing in my eye

it’s the thing that made me decide to put off sleep
if just for a few minutes more
or maybe an hour
which by loose definition of a few
can still be defined in minutes
the point is i am normally asleep at this time
and normal recently has shifted

it’s a sign a symbol an omen or even a premonition
not sure of what
and yet across its thread i am drawn
when life starts again
this sky will fade
to the orange lights indoors
to a machine press life
to a life i asked for yet fear

it’s something
which somehow reminds me how my life can’t stay
in general or in now’s general way
how february i apply for transfer
how friends are leaving
how while some of them will stay
others will go
and i will remember them fondly and never talk to them again
and rivery fate’s threads pull towards somewhere too fast

it’s got something to do with how the moon waxes and wanes
i think
or that these clouds will blow away
and die cremated as rain
or maybe because the moon slowly drifts
or while looking at it quietly i feel that tick o’time
and know that that clock will stop
but not what happens next
and no one does
and i am just like them

it’s completely out of my control
to destroy or to prolong
and came about abrupt
and without input of mine
a reminder how most moments are mostly about me
since i look out of this skull
and yet all the rest are not about me
and how i can die and the moon still waxes
how clouds and the sun’s reflection are more than not me
they’re not people full stop

it’s kind of like this ‘poem’
which will never be extended once i sleep
besides semantics revised
because where my head’s now
it will never again go
and how the clouds are different
then they ever again will be
and be gone tomorrow
the way i think now
must soon die
because biproducts of my computation
are building
and the only remedy is sleep
a radical change in the chemical state of this computer