Night Jitters

Lying in a king-sized

replica of hell

Her eyes were two moons

with insomnia

They wouldn’t go to sleep

They wouldn’t go to sleep

until the owls came

home to roost with squealing

mice hanging from their claws.

She turned in the bed

enough times to go around

the world

turned and turned and

turned as if by turning

she could turn off her

mind and sleep the

sleep of lambs

who know nothing of

making wool sweaters

and lambskin coats.

The clock spit the minutes out

as if it was chewing tobacco

on a lazy summer night

spit the minutes out as slow

as a baby growing teeth

spit the minutes out

as slow as sweat dripping

down a worried man’s brow.

She covered herself with

another blanket

changed pajama more times

than a chameleon changes colors.

She rearranged the sheets

into sails, a shroud,

a cocoon.

Still

nothing brought

the soft hammer of sleep.

 Nothing,

       Nothing,

    Nothing

  shut her eyes

and enclosed her mind

in a drowsy opaque jar

of ether and dreams.

She was ready to scream

herself into unconsciousness

letting the scream be her mantra

  to empty her mind

     to scream, to scream

            to scream

  until the room resonated

with the sound and the sound

  pushed her down

                        down

                             down

                        past memory

                        past knowing

                        past the last

                           lonely outpost

                                    of the

                                       Me.