I'm pushing pins through the pavement.
I'm adding days to the week.
I feel the city sidewalk shake beneath me
while everyone sleeps.
I'm spiking punch and Judy send offs
with silver dollars I stole
from Michael's dresser somewhere back in Brooklyn
while he was out digging holes.
I wrote the horse you rode in on a letter
to keep the focus off me, and make it stay there,
to keep you guessing while the shift change splits the streets,
but I still can't sleep.