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AT
THIS HOUR
I try to rest
but sleep eludes me.
My thoughts will not be quiet,
my mind will not be still
so I rise and write.
Only fragments are formed.
I try to rest
the fragments gnaw at my brain.
Each verse tries out for the part,
I pick and choose
sometimes satisfied.
Then I rise again and write.
Now I'm not tired;
I watch a late movie on TV.
Finally I'll be able to rest.
My eyelids drooping
but the play begins again.
My mind busy,
my thoughts branching
in all directions.
They pay no heed
to my ritualistic lifestyle.
I cover my head with a pillow
as my brain whirls and clicks.
Of course I give in
and in the morning I'm grouchy.
1992
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