the devil's sleep

i buy a time machine on facebook market place.
it is missing a footrest but i have never needed
to be comfortable. i'm surprised 
it fits in the corolla's trunk. i don't tell anyone.
i don't know what i even want 
to do with it. if i were left to my own devices
i would sleep so fucking long. i think i would sleep
until i turned into a patch of moss.
i know i am depressed so i lie on those questions
that doctors ask. they say like, "how often
have you believed in ghosts today" & i waive
my hand & say, "not really at all." there is
a ghost right there & another & another.
i could go back to dinosaur times. maybe there would
be some really sick fruit waiting to be eaten.
or i could go even further & tell the animals
never to come up on land. our first mistake.
since i was young i've had this problem where
i make myself get up earlier & earlier until
i don't sleep at all. i have sometimes believed i was
addicted to the night or else maybe i was, 
in another life, the vigil keeper. the one who
waits & watches to see just what kind of choices
all the teeth will make. the sofa is the best place
to sleep & i don't care what anyone says.
in the old apartment, the dogs would come
& sleep between my legs. the time machine 
should maybe stay a secret. i think people i love
would be upset with me for dreaming
of undoing everything. plucking myself 
with a pair of tweezers from between
the eyebrows of this little sleepy life. the ghosts
lay down next to me. they have melon breath
& we all melt together. when you wake me up
the windows are dark. i ask you, "what time is it?" 
the clocks are all made of stone. you admit, "it is late."