With the coffee that they like,
shaved off the bean like chocolate moose;
a foggy night of swirls rolling off the spoon.
That kind of early.

I need to be there.

People will remember if I’m not,
hold it against me, resent me.

How do I barricade my home office?
It’s a bedroom, no need to barricade.
                                  Supposedly.

Just need food and drink for two,
so when they come for me,
            [They will come – are coming]
                    we’ll live!

          Better than we did when we had to work
all the time,
                  coming in early.

Is a locked door enough to hold them off;
    the door between the day and night,
                      between dreams and reality,
                                  between consciousnesses?

                      I hope so.
                      I hope so.
                I don’t want to die like this,
          early.