Unsleepy

The gray matter sprays thought around a circle
The Indycar race has a photo finish
That Mr. Sandman waits to judge over
Once he sprinkles the track with a photo flash
Judges can cut the mental fat
Brought on by months of late payments
4 a.m. crawls on the A train
Without a dash of female touch
Not necessarily an angel’s
Just a touch of butterscotch
For her sweet tooth, as well as mine