it’s not so very often
that i find it hard to sleep.
on most nights,
i sleep as sound as a baby in the womb
consciousness ebbed, carefree.

but some nights,
i whisper goodnight to the world,
shut my eyes,
only for them to fling open again.
so this is one of those nights, huh?

i cannot see the moon from where i lay
but some nights,
i make the effort to wander to the balcony
and admire its hard work
of taking the shift
just so the sun could rest.
and i remember the words of dear gran,
point at the moon, and you just might lose your ear!

there are no stars in this part of my world
my world is identical to yours
and at the same time separated by vast differences
but some nights,
when the city goes into REM and dims its many lights,
the twinkles above shine like no other—
beautiful, yet lacking life.
all my life, i’ve never been able to make out constellations.

why is it that
some nights the night befalls us all the same
yet persuades me that it’s a good night
to fire up my mind
to let the train of thought leave its station
to catapult me into an existential crisis
who’s out there?
are we alone?
am i alone?
what is this feeling of drooping eyelids and banging chests?
an absence of flavor in my tongue and a bolt in my fingers?

i close my eyes.
one sheep.
two sheep.
three sheep.
shit.

let’s try again.
one sheep.
two sheep.
shit.

it is 2:47. what a beautiful time.
perhaps i’ll write about these thoughts
inside of me
mumbling and swirling like they
know the better part of me.
oh, that’s what i’m doing now. 

but some insomniac nights,
i find it the easiest
to fall asleep
after putting all the thoughts
in my head
onto paper
where they can finally
sleep.

02:50      5/31/19