The poem is a short, fragmented glimpse of a restless mind caught out of step with time. The speaker finds their own head in odd moments, and says they become "more supple," more pliable, as if softened or worn down. The strange line "at noon doing midnight" suggests a person living the wrong hours: awake and sluggish in the middle of the day, or acting as though it were the dead of night. Time seems to have slipped its usual order.
The last line, "the bed as fallen as me," gives the poem its heaviest note. The bed is unmade or sagging, and the speaker feels equally collapsed. Being "supple" may sound pleasant, but here it feels closer to giving way than to grace. The mood is tired, drifting, and a little disoriented, though not dramatic. The broken, unpunctuated phrasing makes it feel like a half-awake thought, and the reader is left in that same hazy, low-energy state.