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Insomnia
Restless, I put on my joggers, parker,
yellow beanie and mask. I look a state
but I don’t care. I can’t sleep and I need
to halt the endless turning of my mind.
I step outside.
Hot breath fills my face and disperses.
Some rises up and condenses on my
glasses, making the lenses all milky.
Streetlamps disappear in halos of light.
Stars do to.
Perhaps Van Gogh wore misty glasses when
he painted the night’s sky, all those years ago.
My feet move without input and
slowly my world becomes more insular.
I’m surprised to see a wall beside me.
The top bricks are blue. They stretch out horizontally
following me. On and on and on and down.
The cycle repeats itself, three more times.
Was it intentional from the builder?
Or did they just run out of red bricks?
And if so, does it even matter?
Looking up, the sky has broken into
two segments. The first – blue – like a holiday beach.
The second – black – like a black hole, sucking in all light.
And me, caught somewhere in the middle.
I’m far now, farther than I intended
and the world is absolutely silent.
The undisturbed peace has to have meaning, I think
but my heart knows nothing so perfect can.
To my left, I look at the houses.
How many are there? In this street?
Twenty? Thirty? Could it be forty?
And each one a life. Probably several lives—
several brains, several galaxies,
all connected, forming their own universes.
So much infinitely larger than oneself.
Keep them safe.
Wear a mask.
