From the Wallace Variations. A couple of years old now.
Actually, i seldom, if ever get insomnia, but when i do it is all the more frustrating for it isn’t clear why i have it, i just have it. i can do nothing different & it just happens upon me. Thankfully it is rare.
Insomnia the bastard
Insomnia is similar to limbo— a sort of limbo
between the will to act & need of sleep
while headache propping matchsticks keep me on alert,
urge the dismantlement of heroic attempts to rest.
Just make a cup of tea, be done with kip;
i’m utterly dismantled by a punished skull.
i repeat a mantra to whatever listens when i speak
i have no wish to sleep for want is suffering
: i read some of Bodhidharma’s Bloodstream Sermon
before my efforts to fidget the head into sleep
—the squaring of the circle. i’ve been awake since 1:15
it’s just gone five o’ clock, my brain is casserole.
i elbowed Wallace …zzz… to ask for sleeping pills
but he’s slept like a polar bear in pack ice since
his resurrection from the dead.
i roll & toil while sleep holds its palm against my chest
: have i spent all my dreams at just thirty?
i put it down to the emotional toll
of my visit home playing catch up on my nerves
i thought more robust, as if tolls get recorded
on nerves without my knowing or approval
—a protyl state that should unravel a complex solution.
The sun played peek-a-boo all night with me
& now it came for real & Wallace wants coffee.