my beating heart keeps me up at night, scratching clawing
shaking me awake in a tossed turned bed
mortality will be my undoing.
counting circles that always get lost at 38
while the same song lyric loops,
as if woven into the stiff fabric of unrest
and grubby little sunbeams sneak in through half-closed curtains, signaling
the slow start of another endless day.
yet here I am writing rhymes to soothe the sleeplessness
while watching my many marvelous moments grow dim around the edges,
unbuffered in the hard drive of a tired mind, with no time for
concrete edges to be defined.
A few more years of this and my three decades will decay into
sounds, colors, circles that start and end
at dawn
and leave me still searching for some punctuation in a
too long day.
