There’s a certain kind of sleeping
Which happens at a desk
That’s good for the soul
Not going but falling to sleep
When you shouldn’t but do
The sound of deep rumbles
On the ear through wood
Light peaking under the arch of my arm
Into the cave where I buried myself
Holding the heavy weight of my head
And warm air on my face as I breathe
Hiding in my arms
As I cradle myself
Asleep at a Desk
Hole In The Hedgerow 
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