Graveyard shift

The blue screen speaks to my retina
even as Orion’s belt moves
at a diagonal across a sunless sky.

My finger tips feel their way
through work of the virtual that requires
I staple words with the braille of the times.

My eyes blink incredulously
at monstrous sleep for it harkens me
to the ‘other’ side.

As I dream of sleep
and sleepwalk through looming deadlines
synaptically connecting snapshots of intruding memory,

the only thing real now
is the mug of cold frigid coffee,
while the waning crescent of a globe weakly shines.

My body tries to reconcile
it’s separation from mind
as REM remains an acronym,

or of sanitized sleep laboratories,
or perhaps a forgotten boy band,
and I wonder if I am in a metropolis or a necropolis,

for the day has blended with night,
I need glasses to filter out scattering blue light
from a pixelated sky through metaphorical windows.

Am I in a spaceship?
The refrigerator holds rehydration fluids
and some material stamped nutritious.

Intra-planetary mates are sepulchral, auricular,
spectral, shifting shapes, changing avatars,
while on this unending graveyard shift