Last Night Sleep Didn't Come Easily

Backs aren’t meant to bend
in such contorted trends.
Seats, however do:
they’re made too.
Usually by withered hand of a
carpenter man
whom sits, on a stool,
hacking away with some old school work tool.

My back will not mend
nor contort back to an early blend
of athleticism or creative vocal cord and friend.
But for now, typewriter taps on the window board
and drops follow and get swallowed by water tracks
that attack the maps and contours of the window pane.
I cannot sleep.