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.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THE DEATH OF MARION DU FRESNE AT THE BAY OF ISLANDS, NEW ZEALAND, 12 JUNE 1772, BY CHARLES MÉRYON (1846-1848)

THINKING ABOUT LUKE WILLIS THOMPSON

WHY PETER GILDERDALE CAN GET STUFFED