Three tries and three erasures.
Placing the last side on a box-me-in,
I must or I can’t sleep.
I open the book called Never
again so that it negates itself. I find myself
at encroach upon,
sliding into an abrupt exhalation.
A good idea, to breathe.
The room at night
is a different room
with morning’s furniture,
the same animals, the same unseen