insomnia, or submitting to sleep

i merely play
at night's window, afraid
i might dream some
frailty if i open
it, some frailty
too strong to bear
or subdue.

& still the star-filled
chasm, night-bound gulf stream,
engulfs & swallows
the house(hold) whole,
carrying me, conscious
on cold celestial currents
toward galactic centers of sleep.

at last sleep slithers
through windows & doors,
extending its tendrils to
constrict consciousness.

i tumble, tunnel into sleep,
worming my way into
my mind's unguarded underside, a
plump, pale parasite,
feeding on my own weaknesses.

come morning, i come to.
sweat-soaked, sluggish (still),
as twisted as the tortured sheets,
disoriented in the dragon-glare
of morning sun. the sleep-miasma
drains away, into
the cold heat of the day.

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