Insomnia

There's been a cheap plastic nozzle
gripped firmly by your chawing
nervous teeth, made unquiet
by too much insomnia and
Colombian roast (which is best,
after all) while your breath
condenses on the cherrywood
that you clutch in your hand like you're
some kind of academic. This pipe
is filled with a crack you can't
stop can't catch can't
buy on the streets. Give me a light
and see if I burn the night
sky fuckin' high, like a
deconstructionist rocket in flight
while I play Boggle with myself
and grin 'cos I just fuckin' won.
In just under 2.5 I'll be
on the streets, under
those lamplights, and some speedy
Gonzalez is gonna blow smoke
in my face and say hey
little man
ain't you out kinda late?