I hate the night and it's untimely creations. The avalanche of loose words doused on closed eyes, begging to be assembled into flowing images or melodic alliterated sentences. Adjectives lurk under sealed eyelids. Verbs implore the body to respond. Mocking my stillness they urge limbs to act out in their name. Verses arrange and rearrange of their own accord. They ebb and flow. I'm too tired to grab them all. Why now, when I crave nothing but sleep? Why can't I conjure this brainstorm in waking hours. I grab a pen to write; semi-conscious. It all jumbles into nonsense. The dream state draws me back to act out unconscious intentions. I hate the night and all its promises; Its lyrical musings behind twitching eyelids.
I woke up one morning having written the bones of this poem during a really disturbed and unsatisfying nights sleep!