Sometimes I think of my office as a pod of neutrality floating in a sea of black suits and striped ties.
Upon entry the outside world melts away, time slows down, and I wait.
Thoughts are mired in sticky tarry residue. My eyes tire. Sleep is a fine opponent.
He sits aloof, awake in the corner waiting for the right time to strike.
But inevitably the door swings open, letting in a surge of questions, problems, doubts, dreams, and the occasional poem too.
Sleep - distressed, defeated, and deflated - slips away unnoticed.
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