Static

A blip
On a green-black monitor.
An irregular rhythm
On a night-skinned drum
Plays in my head.
Syncopated thrums,
In three long nights
Each a year long.
Mornings, noons, evenings,
Swollen, consumed.
Paltry remainder-
An unforgiving insomnia.
Loops of that still dream
That uncoils and stretches;
Lulled into ennui.
Another day
A lifetime away
It might awaken.
Rebel.
Climb on a string
And hang in the sky,
My blameless moon.

Mean Insomniacs

Some nights are difficult
Others are impossible.
The hands of a clock are passé now.
Digital seconds denuded of poetry.
An airplane flies overhead.
Noisier than nails screeching across the board.
Tearing into the silence of the winter sky.
The moon hides in a sleepy cloud
Shamed into wakefulness by a cheeky star or two.
You sleep too.
Dreaming dreams that daren't intrude into daylight.
I see your scars healing
In the unclenching of your fingers
In the lazy throw of a leg on a wayward pillow
In the long exhale of an overlong day.
Eaten with envy, I claw at your shadow
Willing it to voodoo you awake.
Somewhere, a howl of protest.
A kindred soul?
Unable to forgive the somnolent.
Together, the stray and me, we exact our revenge.
He, crying inconsolably.
Me, pulling at sheets, breathing in your ear, chasing dreams into nightmares.