Insomnia

 

Insomnia,
like yesterday’s paper
crumpled at bedside,
whispering suggestions,
imperfect memories
that contour thought and time.

It wanders a waking place,
pacing or pausing
to comfort quiet’s anxious breath.

It stares at night light’s glow
a 24-hour business
averaging its losses.

It parks at meters flashing toward zero time.
It feeds the countdown
Til all is spent.

It looks for refuge
from predatory time
that feels like a lumbering bear
looking for exhausted salmon,
or like an exhausted salmon,
flopped over on its side,
one eye on the rocky bottom,
one on the waiting bear.

 

 

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