Awake

I don’t want to sleep because

Sleeping leads to dreaming and

My dreams these days…

5:44 on a Sunday morning:

I’ve been up since midnight

Pursuing pointlessness to

A level nearing art.

Missing when it flowed like water:

Inspiration, pouring from my soul,

As easily as if exhaled.

And maybe that’s the source of

Crisis in my dreaming: I can

Remember how the itch would

Hit me hard as nicotine fits.

And writing, poems, anything really

That took some inspiration,

Was like that first, loooooong puff,

Except calming in a way no

Drug, cigarette or other,

Could ever start to touch.