Sleep has long since
stopped expecting me.
I write into this day,
and into a new day.
It’s not like the
problems and the pain
go away when I sleep.
Like a Dylan song title,
this wonderland of fast money
is in my head all the time.
I try to sleep, but my
thoughts move oddly.
Like lab rabbits
stunned by drugs,
given by doctors deprived
of their naps, and internet connections.
A Wandering Poet 