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.