Insomnia

Midnight, Hoots and despondent howls From crevasses of puking earth prompt weakness at slumber Webs! They encircle the pin-line threads of silence, viciously muted, Drawing porous patterns of maladroitness Dawn, Loose drops of old water, cusp-sized, blend with the rays of the Rising sun, smelting our principles. Images, Lachrymose consternations congeal the blood in our brows, Stifling the grace of blinking lashes And we lose patience. There’s a new-nurtured ruggedness Which opens the snouts while we yawn. In the distance, Moonlight, sapped, means nothing with her downward gaze. But the sound of maudlin drums hastens closer and nearer.