Sleep
Sleep evades me
at this thieving hour of 2 a.m.-
my mind speed goes
like 100 wild horses
with their long manes
breaking on the air.
My soul is unpedaling
like a pink peony
with its monumental head
falling down, down, down.
I am immune to pills
at this pilfering time.
My eyes are fogged over
with a sort of clearish white veil.
My eyes teeter on the edge
of dreamland but
my eyes wear electric lids
that zap me wake when
I feel as if I am falling.
I will count pigs
instead of sheep.
Copyright © Dawnell Harrison | Year Posted 2019
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