Insomnia the bastard

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.

4 thoughts on “Insomnia the bastard

  1. An eloquent and relatable piece, Daniel, the matchsticks, the mental fidgeting, suffering through not wishing to. And that moment when we are certain that all our dreams are over. Thank your deity of choice (including the null space) for sunrise and coffee. What is the best thing to do with late-night thoughts? I would say use them for poetry. 😉

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