uninvited

dry crumbs in sleep's deep bed of thought,
more plentiful than peas in books
or trolls beneath the bridges, brooked
and ticked and tocked by errant hooves.

they count the clock's infernal beat,
dry crumbs in sleep's deep bed of thought,
then twist and fidget where they ought
to hush and shush and quit their talk.

they dangle days behind your eyes
when just a sweet, brief nap is sought;
dry crumbs in sleep's deep bed of thoughts
those uninvited, petty crooks.

they are the knock where none exists,
the uninvited plague repose;
a million questions they'll suppose,
dry crumbs in sleep's deep bed of thoughts.