My Moths

It's Friday night
my brain is dead
it feels like moths
are in my head
batting with their
velvet wings,
begging me
to think of things
I'd like to do
or try or write-
maybe, guys,
but not tonight.
Tonight I'm more
inclined to mull
While you flounce
inside my skull.
Settle down and
let me rest!
I'll face tomorrow
full of zest.
For you moths,
so dull and gray,
are butterflies
on Saturdays!