Clean sheets are the best beginnings.
Hotels are best, bleached into submission, voided of their histories,
they lie crisp and inviting, anonymous.
This is the best sleep, the alone sleep,
hidden rest.
Tucked between sheets where no one can hear,
no one can see.
Time sleeps alone
and is at peace.
It begins and ends like this, white and crisp
and private.
What comes rumpled in between
that is the complication,
the restless mess which opens on waking
and slumps towards consciousness.
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