We have now entered the birds-chirping-all-night season.
—Terri Guillemets
insomnia
At two-fifty-nine
Prayer to the middle-of-the-night gods:
please let me sleep —
thank you for the beautiful moon
and winter silence
but please let me fall back to sleep —
no offense.
Amen.
—Terri Guillemets
Fantastic shores
in bed at night his mind had a ferocious imagination
reality and unreality haunted his turbulent brain
the years ticked, an infinite clock of destiny
searching moonlight for the promise of a future
his reveries of heart were coasting on a fairy’s wing
as the world and universe drifted by fantastic shores
but the sea, work, and women — physical outlets —
were his anchor — something old, hard, and soft
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, 1925, Scribner 2004 trade paperback,
Insomnia ticking
three o’clock —
anxiety, regret
in the depths of worry
swept away in the
whirlwind of nothing —
a horrible nothing
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Octave Mirbeau, The Diary of a Chambermaid, 1891–1900,
Can’t freakin’ sleep
insomnia is invisible
but hard as concrete
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, 1996, Henry Holt paperback, First Owl Books 1997 edition,
Blaring quiet
A clock is ticking
in my living room —
I never even noticed
that it makes noise —
my mind is ticking,
my heart is ticking.
Everything quiet
is audible at 3 a.m.
—Terri Guillemets
Alone in mid-night
Midnight — the luller
Midnight — the advisor
Midnight — the fabulist
—Terri Guillemets
Hiding from the sleep cops
I’ve had such bad insomnia the sleep cops have issued a warrant for my rest.
—Terri Guillemets
Insomniacaholic
I’m an insomniacaholic
if there is such a thing
well, I know there is —
I am one, and their king!
—Terri Guillemets