Song Bird

I wrote this in 5 minutes, I've decided that the amount of time I put into a poem has absolutely no correlation to how good it is.

Formed rhythms beat
one, two, three bathroom doors
open, doors close.
Toothbrushes click off the tile
falling into molded holsters.
Bladders empty, heads nod
in rhythm to sleep, and
with a thump, into slumber,

to jar me awake.
And the glow,
of the creaking laptop screen
as it opens to luminate:
wrinkled bags hanging eyelids,
hair slopped side ways,
and the one strip of defiant
sticking straight up,
rigid and weird.

Eyes so burned and brown
crisp like everything he is not;
slouching over tacking ticking
keys that manifest his stupor.

Time slips off darting indexes,
a fog of epiphanies dissolve
into tomorrow before
today even concluded.

For it's light again, says the song bird,
with his two lonely notes; twit then tweet.

Twit then tweet, in defiant melody,
a twit for the sun, a tweet for the moon.
a rhythm so lonely and honest,
the song bird continues through the morning.

-Dann