I wake at two. The dreams rewind.
The day now past is redefined,
Its cracked and slipping gears grind.
Remembering will not bring sleep
And to hell with counting sheep.
Getting up to read only prolongs
Alertness — as do regretted wrongs.
You try to empty out all thought,
But find what’s unwillingly sought;
What can be quickly flung away
Returns in images you cannot say.
Soon you’re even more woke up,
Like an overflowing coffee cup.
You change the me from you to I —
That’s worse, like the grasping “my.”
Take all these memories and desires
And drown them in oceanic fires.
Breathe deep until thought expires.
