SLEEPLESS IN SUBURBIA


I cannot sleep. Only dreams, no sleep – Kafka’s Journal

The bastard insomnia
drives me on at the pale-
lit window of my laptop

waiting for the neighbour’s
cat to kick up its horny
ruckus, the plaintive

staccato of the spur-wing
plover, and eventually
when I am exhausted

enough to finally close
my eyes with any meaning,
the lone cowboy blackbird

anticipating the brawl
of the dawn chorus
like John the Baptist

prefiguring the Christ-light
(unfortunate name, Turdus
merula) lets rip with a

liquid, mellow song for itself
that no one else was supposed
to be awake to hear.


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