Sweet, warm dark of night
pull me in and hold me tight.
Help me fight this awful scourge
of sleeplessness, and the urge
to give up, get out bed,
to live the life of one Dead.
My mind and mouth are disconnected
as is my soul, it seems infected
with some loopy, crazened curse
from which I cannot wrangle verse
of any meaning or consequence,
much less poetic 'brilliance'...
Sing-song, sing-song - that manic rhythm
drives my brain, my hand, my very innards.
In fact, this morning I awoke
with these first lines like a choke-
hold on my mind - after just four hours
of nothing like sleep, too weak to shower.
At least I rested, this much is true;
my eyes no more bear reddish hue.
Still, I'm not sure which foot is right
and which is wrong, if it's day or if it's night.
Did I just put the cat in the sink -
the dishes out the door, I think?
(But I don't own a cat, so how -?
No, I won't worry about that now...)
My life's a shambles, the house in ruins,
I cannot count from one to two!
Sweet relief, where have you gone? ...
Please hold me, Sleep, sing me a song,
a lullaby of soothing rhyme
to save me from committing crime.
(2.20.06)