I was going to flat-out accuse Blake Butler of stealing my hypnopompia for his own nefarious, writerly purposes when Kathy told me of Insomnia Door, but now I love him because it made me exclaim loud and complimentary things such as, "Holy shit, that was a great poem!"
Off topic: I looked up convolute in the dictionary, and I'm still not entirely sure what it means or why.
Vodka gimlets are three parts vodka, one part lime juice. That I understand.
Even more off topic: Bread bowl soup from Camille's is made by the devil. Or of the devil. Either way, ouch.
Back on topic: Read the poem.