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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