Insomnia Diary: Dead Bug Pose

I lift my hands and feet into the sky 

and feel the blood flowing 

back to my gut, my heart, my brain, 

only to realize—too late— 

that this has been a big mistake 

because my gut, my heart, my brain 

can’t help but drive the burden 

of all this blood back 

into my hands and feet, 

and now I won’t be able 

to stop walking, running, doing, 

when all I wanted was to fall asleep.

[LSS, 12/2/20]

Insomnia Diary:  Still Life with Hands and Feet

Sketching the scars, reminders 

of compressed nerves 

that once needed surgical release

in order to survive,

two crooked toes, one broken 

while jumping into some awkward 

pose, and the other, never having had

reason enough (or enough reason) 

to fall in line in the first place,  

broken in some long-ago

and only-slightly-forgotten slight.

[LSS, 12/2/20]

Insomnia Diary:  What She Said

“You had to be there,” she said,

“I laughed so hard.”

She’s laughing now 

at her funny story 

that she can’t retell 

in a funny way,

so I begin to nod off 

out of boredom,

until I remember 

my own funny story.

[LSS, 12/2/20]

Insomnia Diary:  Simple Needs

One is looking 

for a single kiss.

The other is looking 

for a way to stop 

looking.

[LSS, 12/2/20]