No sleep leaves
Him sleep deprived,
He hides beneath
His drooping eyes,
And comes home to dwell
Within the silence of the night.

Before spreading across the bed,
He places his patched jacket
Above the ground, on a hook,
To hang, suspended for the flipside.
A glance at the clock tells him it’s three,
Plus a quarter turn to the right.

It’s always before dreams, it seems,
That he feels the need to pull
Out pen and paper, to write.
Very soon, he knows,
It will be bright.
And lights will shine in,
To wake him up, again.

Sometimes, though,
He likes to pretend,
That there isn’t an end,
To this nocturne world.

So while he…
His, mind dances along the moon,
With a little more wandering,
His thoughts seem in tune,

To a jazzy
Twilight atmosphere,
And he hears -
The quiet orchestra
Of his thoughts,
Amidst the dark.

For a short time,
He’s moaning with Mingus, absorbing Etta.
At last, his sleep has come along,
As he dips into the Milky Way
Until his thoughts are gone.