three o four
there's a flock
of big brown moths
flapping at the door

they wish to see,
what the insomiac, me
is writing on my pallet
of white electricity

they thrum and they
fight to get to the
seven by five square
of light
that is my dark of night
insanity, rewrite.

sorry i must go,
the cat, has heard,
the feathery noise
and now sits poised,
ready to strike
and that will be
a darkside calamity...
of possible veterinary proportions.