insomnia

sounds rise and race
as colours trace
blurred trails
through your inner space
as if in dreams
you’ve never faced
and yet
can almost taste.

tick 

tick

tock

the waking world itself becomes
the image of a dream
that’s wispy bright,
ethereal,
oneirically abeam,
as if backlit
by ancient lanterns
shrouded and unseen.

tick 

tick

tock

dazed, you watch
as thoughts elide
like clouds
throughout a yawning sky
and somehow drift
and then collide
like cars on ice
that slowly slide
with no one there
to steer the ride,
and metal shards agleam.

tick 

tick

tock

slow hands
tick off the hours,
miners
picking
at the rock.

tick

tick

tock

the nocturne of
a sleepless clock,
as in your bed
you turn
and toss.

tick

tick

tock

your head nods up
and drops straight down
agreeing to the silent sound
of solemn words
that no one said
and so
cannot be found.

tick

tick

tock

now all is strange
as darkened days
blur into lightened nights
as shadows in a waterdrop
flow into beams of light
because
though sleep can rarely take
as dawn enters abright
you’re never quite awake
and so
you never feel right.

tick

tick

tock.