Nap Time Poetry Slam.

In the glow of the afternoon sun they sleep.
Heads on desks with crossed arms for pillows.
The flourescent hum of cheap lighting and computer fans
mix with sleepy breathing
and distant reverse alarms
to provide a lullaby for the prisoners.

I.S.S is heavy with the fragility of this tenuous peace.

Don't screw this up Mr. Awesome.

There is no way back to Eden.