Musings by The Poet Loriet
Nocturnal Me-Missions
"I'm wide awake~I'm not sleeping!"--
Lyrics from a U2 song
parallel my insane insomnia
perfectly.
Colloquialism is always
most evident at two a.m.
Deep thoughts linger
without rhyme or reason
in the dimly lit air
of a sleeping house--
sighs and moans of
the ventilation system
sing me a jazzy lullaby
to no avail.
My oceanic bed
fails to lull
my restlessness--
the waters turbulent,
the covers
surfing over my legs
as I hang ten,
toeing the hemline.
As I hunt appropriate characters,
hand-pecked from my shifty keyboard,
a mental fog envelops me,
clouding my need for sleep.
I peruse bizarre tidbits,
off-color jokes, horoscopes,
and the daily recipe--
Shall I try my luck
at the free lottery?
No, too codependent...
gambling on the graveyard shift.
"Who wants to be a millionaire?"
at this ungodly hour.
I was just momentarily detained
from my housewide search
for a Tylenol P.M.
Eventually,
words on the screen begin to blur
into Rorscharch ink blots--
that's My Q,
the proverbial green light!
I climb into my cocoon
of toasty blankets--
finally, able to fly away
on slumber's spun-gold wings,
freed again from the Web...
...But the spider that dwells there
is still ravenously hungry
searching for her next sleep-starved
victim to feed upon.
She attacks her next prey
without even taking a cleansing breath
or indulging in a sorbet to
clear her taste palate--
that shameless hussy!
~and the beat goes on~
~Lori Beal
Lyrics from a U2 song
parallel my insane insomnia
perfectly.
Colloquialism is always
most evident at two a.m.
Deep thoughts linger
without rhyme or reason
in the dimly lit air
of a sleeping house--
sighs and moans of
the ventilation system
sing me a jazzy lullaby
to no avail.
My oceanic bed
fails to lull
my restlessness--
the waters turbulent,
the covers
surfing over my legs
as I hang ten,
toeing the hemline.
As I hunt appropriate characters,
hand-pecked from my shifty keyboard,
a mental fog envelops me,
clouding my need for sleep.
I peruse bizarre tidbits,
off-color jokes, horoscopes,
and the daily recipe--
Shall I try my luck
at the free lottery?
No, too codependent...
gambling on the graveyard shift.
"Who wants to be a millionaire?"
at this ungodly hour.
I was just momentarily detained
from my housewide search
for a Tylenol P.M.
Eventually,
words on the screen begin to blur
into Rorscharch ink blots--
that's My Q,
the proverbial green light!
I climb into my cocoon
of toasty blankets--
finally, able to fly away
on slumber's spun-gold wings,
freed again from the Web...
...But the spider that dwells there
is still ravenously hungry
searching for her next sleep-starved
victim to feed upon.
She attacks her next prey
without even taking a cleansing breath
or indulging in a sorbet to
clear her taste palate--
that shameless hussy!
~and the beat goes on~
~Lori Beal
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Nocturnal Me-Missions
Nocturnal Me-Missions
