On 3 hours of disturbed rest,
where I fulfilled the need to be lateral
yet failed to enter the room
and turned 1440° in bed
like a disquieted girl in her grave,
legs wide, shut, foetal, straight, asymmetrical
did I ever just lie there with my eyes open, waiting for sleep to come?
(I) stare at cheap curtains
by the gate of a cloudy day
with the whole world in (my) mind,
behind (my) eyes,
on (my) shoulders.
After a day of inward seclusion
explanations for solitude had eluded me.
Now it just feels like a 48-hour workday
no break no rhyme no reason
and in short sporadic barely surreal dreamt-dreams
grows a decline of patience
in waiting for relief