Previous month:
November 2017


It’s an echo in the dark that no one started.
That panic that wakes you in the middle of the night,
Sitting upright, heart racing, listening for any sound,
Then realizing, it’s the damn middle of the night,
There’s nothing wrong, right now, right here.
But, so much is falling apart that we’re currently holding
Together with bailing wire and duct tape. Sheer will
Keeps the wall up that is crumbling and cracking,
I know that sounds weak and a quite psychotic.
That’s me at 1:05 in the morning, as I get up to pee
And check the locks and the deserted driveway
Hoping against hope that everyone is safe in bed,
Climbing back into bed, I’m also hoping to sleep.
“Hope is not a strategy,” some guy said once.
But to hell with that guy, when simple hope is all
You have to keep you going after strategies fail,
Trying to clear my mind, I read another chapter,
Then count sheep, or down from 100 by threes.
I watch the hours pass on the clock and the moon
Passes by the window as morning light subtly comes,
I join the masses these days, anxiously robbed of sleep.
Day comes, ready or not, and tags me to be next
In line at the stop light and at the conference table.
I’m trying hard to stay awake. Really? Now sleep comes?
Pops, 2018