Mockingbird lives in a tree just outside our door —
and every spring he tells songful bedtime stories
about his ardent quest to find a mockingmaiden —
his lovely talented tales start with once upon a time
then it’s nonstop plot and plagiarism all night long
with the happy ending note sometime near dawn!
insomnia
Can’t freakin’ sleep
insomnia is invisible
but hard as concrete
blackout poetry created from Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, 1996
Insomnia ticking
three o’clock —
anxiety, regret
in the depths of worry
swept away in the
whirlwind of nothing —
a horrible nothing
blackout poetry created from Octave Mirbeau, The Diary of
Tempus nunquam dormit
Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
Alone in mid-night
Midnight — the luller
Midnight — the advisor
Midnight — the fabulist
Fantastic shores
in bed at night his mind had a ferocious imagination
reality and unreality haunted his turbulent brain
the years ticked, an infinite clock of destiny
searching moonlight for the promise of a future
his reveries of heart were coasting on a fairy’s wing
as the world and universe drifted by fantastic shores
but the sea, work, and women — physical outlets —
were his anchor — something old, hard, and soft
scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald,
Blaring quiet
A clock is ticking
in my living room —
I never even noticed
that it makes noise —
my mind is ticking,
my heart is ticking.
Everything quiet
is audible at 3 a.m.
Hiding from the sleep cops
I’ve had such bad insomnia the sleep cops have issued a warrant for my rest.
02:00
two in the morning
mind humming from the inside out
thinking about how much I think
blackout poetry created from Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls, 2001
Insomniacaholic
I’m an insomniacaholic
if there is such a thing
well, I know there is —
I am one, and their king!
journal, age fifteen
Biblioinsomnia
Up late with books, reading in bed—
Up early with coffee, extra lead.
Mocking my insomnia
We have now entered the birds-chirping-all-night season.
At two-fifty-nine
Prayer to the middle-of-the-night gods:
please let me sleep —
thank you for the beautiful moon
and winter silence
but please let me fall back to sleep —
no offense.
Amen.