When Sleep Won't Come--Part 3

 When sleep won’t come, watch the night stars explode—
at the tip of my brain the show begins:
strobes spin; glow- in- the-dark, white-faced monsters
dance the disco; and the bass drum thumps
in the distance like a young heart,

a brave heart free-falling through nothingness.
 
The party’s over; space covers up
awareness like plastic film preserving
stale thoughts from yesterday for tomorrow,
placed in short-term memory’s cold storage,
and pushed to the shelf of tired ideas;
in a twinkling they will be forgotten—

and past their sell-by date.
 
I try to remember.  Words disengage,
vanish; it’s like playing connect the dots
with disappearing ink.

The barrage of lights implodes into naught;
distinct plans blur into furry darkness
and I float in that dead-zone space between
unconscious life and conscious death;

ah, sleep at last.

Fog rolls in and hovers over misty
bogs until distant sounds ring in my ear, 
shattering the perfect silence.  Rising
up to meet myself I peek through slitted
lid, not believing, not wanting to believe;  
 
 the sun smiles at me in all its splendor.