I lay awake, heavy eyes wide awake
Mind a blissful muddle of disjointed monologue
Each drifting by, much like the lyrics
That play one after another, my thought travelogue

A passing itch; slipping grasp on flow
Lucidity flirts with an ego driven convention romanticizing verbose line
Reasoning absconds down a twisted path
And the song changes, dragging with it nascent thought o’mine

My muse so long ago swam back
Into the vast ocean of my subconscious
In a rocking boat with a single forked paddle
Furiously, futily, feigning fickle mindedness, I pursue my precious, the fictious

With words, letters, and lines peppering my sleepy head
And random ideas of every shape and genus and affiliac (some who just happen to be insufferable egomaniacs)
Clawing and nagging, hissing and conversing … playing checkers
A smile alights at the thought of a fellow insomniac

With words my plaything and the quiet night my mistress
A poor poet beds an urge and a passing thought – a titillating arrangement
The threesome, however, find nothing but awkwardness
As each wishes for skill or even refined metaphor to be present

But alas, prepositions repetitive, clone themselves
And capture the ‘Persons’ pair 
And in a sci-fi twist join the first and the third
Resulting in the poet’s realization that I might be waist deep in a jumbled affair

Thoughts of camaraderie return, but only as questions
The familiar smile returns as well, the shameless sequel
I wonder if those afore mentioned insomniacs
Think of me during their nightly sleep defying ventures as a fond equal?



- Written at around 3:30 in the morning... 

The End

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