Ben Bonkoske

If I had the rigor to fall asleep at the same time each night and wake up the next morning without a warning from three poltergeists, I would probably die of excitement. I walk only 4.4 miles a day, which is more than thirty miles a week, but those are rookie numbers, not the numbers I seek. I have no idea how Dickens was able to find the hours in a day to walk 20. Maybe he ran, but I don’t think people had Nike’s back then. He probably didn’t sleep as late as me or waste his time on frivolous poetry. I really shouldn’t compare myself to others because I always end up short and on the outside cohorts that gossip sheepishly. I am the wolf in wizard clothes, warning mothers to stay indoors. My venom has run dry because I’m grouchy as a tiger and sleep is a necessity I don’t compromise. Forget if, but when. Time moves as quick as the sun. And moonlight is too precious to not go skinny dipping in, so I once again, close my eyes, and lift my head, at those who are already in bed. You wouldn’t understand me if I said, I’m already dead.