Whistle This Alone

I’m writing the righting of wrongs,

But longing too long to belong.

I’m stuck in a loop;

No luck in a group

To sing of a singular song.

I’m singing a singular song,

While writing the righting of wrongs.

I’m stuck in a groove

No luck can remove

The longing too long to belong.

Sleep Loan

To the child oversleeping in bed,
My father had quite often said,

“The one who sleeps less
Will soon pass the test.”

So I slept during lectures instead.