by Andrew S Adams
i find myself requiring
nearly ten hours of every day
be devoted to the pursuit sleep;
and though it is more a state of
it imitates the real thing well enough
to do the trick;
it is occasionally troubling, though
that when i am not sleeping, the
fact that i am not is the least
of my concerns;
the dark room on a frigid midwinter
with only the alarm clock in focus
thoughts fixated upon time and
the general assumption that
these are moments wasted
and it goes from there,
mindless wandering from the
memory of one bad day to another
to regrets in regards to every
woman i've ever met, when these moments
were anything but wasted;
and the persistent isolation
contained in the instants of
the here and now, i insist
that a lack of sleep does me
no great harm;
marks time too callously.
Author's Note: uh... yeah. don't worry. i'm completely aware it's not a word.
Posted on 01/02/2009
Copyright © 2019 Andrew S Adams
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Jared Fladeland on 01/02/09 at 03:46 PM|
hmm. i also just wrote a poem about sleeping. hmmm. perhaps it is the freezing north weather that makes us darned tired?
|Posted by Nanette Bellman on 01/02/09 at 05:27 PM|
i invent new words all the time. good job.
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/05/09 at 01:14 AM|
Perhaps just the right word for those times between wakefulness and deep sleep! Recently I read a Dear Abby column where she says she "changes channels" when certain types of dreams becomes too much. Seems that would be more applicable to awakefulness. Interesting poem.