Insomnia, my friend
wide awake, late night Zen
eyes on fire
up too long
busying myself
with the beckonings of the Divine
and the devil

Art house films
to sticks ablur;
the jackhammer patter of my
practice pad work
the clickety-clock of my laptop
writing like a robot
through rib-popping yawns and
sweet vanilla soy milk

the solitude
the blue/black sky
the quiet space outside
brings in the morning...
and the insulin spike
of Katie Couric's Clorox purity
and the cluster of automatons
holding signs from faceless cities

Still awake
have no idea why