Sleep Infection

As Rumple in blankets, I vegetate in unfilled torpor, Blind enervation adrift among Extinguished stars, among dark Torpid galaxies where I am a stranger. I find only dead planets, windswept and barren, Where molecules of a distant living past Are vaguely recalled, And where conceptions, Convictions all collapse. Exhaustion is an avalanche Making no distinction between vacuity and repletness. Sleep believes nothing, Not even the animated chatter of My dreams.