I eat another cookie. 

Work first then play, 

The mental drag like a grindstone, 

Against the grain of thought. 

A beaten anvil, 

Each imprint another late night, 

Another exhausted fall, 

Into the white envelope of slumber. 

I exist in a state of dazed consciousness, 

Where monologue presses upon my head, 

And through my pores. 

Where syrup is stuck between my teeth, 

Sweet like knowledge, 

Lingering like the responsibilities I keep putting off. 

Water trickles down my neck,

Penetrates my throat, 

Absorbs my arms, legs, chest, 

Back to reality. 

Until I am once again sitting in my kitchen, 

The worn-out nub of a pencil pressed to my lips, 

A familiar taste of graphite on my tongue, 

A trawling line of text, 

Melded in the haze of fatigue, 

Until it shimmers an ashen gray. 

Until the ambient buzz of our heater, 

And that frigid summer sweat, 

And the sugar,

And the fibers,

Remove the mental strain of academia,

Gesticulate renewed vivacity,

And permit me another half hour of sustained concentration.