This poem casts a line from insomnia to morning On the wind of a prayer that whatever bites, holds on.
See I have counted eleven score and ten, with rainbow like curves of my neck - contemptuous beasts leaping in formation each bleating out a preach of vague platitudes; A narrative for the night sky.
My hands clamour at keys for escape until I tumble headfirst into a web so vast it has ensnared the whole world wide - millennials are living in-ter-net over in-the-world; a new ultraviolence against humanity.
I beat my words into the screen until it breaks; shattering scarlet emoticons like confetti pouring over language as if it were a compliment. My mind massages shapeless polypous thoughts like tight constricted muscles aching for release.
3am casts these philosophies into horses, whipping them into shape and speed before the eyes of this statuesque ******. This anxious wakefulness begs my manic self to dance; suggestively ******* tickets to ride like cleavage.
Sleep is fast becoming a neglected former engagement; as my mind trips over fallen heroes wades through my favourite mistakes in a wonderland unfolding faster than I can fall while the world beyond my window remains dark.
This poem was written in response to prompts by a friend of mine who is throwing a competition offering a signed first edition copy of her poetry book as a prize.Β Β Visit her facebook page for details of the twenty word prompts and details on how to submit. https://www.facebook.com/Siajanewords?fref=ts