sleep is a ******. it recoils when the moon and the night conspire. it shuns slumber like a timebomb on a porch. sleep ticks like a phantom with Tourettes...
we are not familiar.
in the wee hours, I am disconnected from trivia. attached to the hull of a great force surging through the aqueous chasms of my insomnia. like a butterfly the size of a classical harp clapping in the dark Almighty,