Insomniac

Sleep never comes
the lonely man
the lonely hour.
A demon could
keep in front of the sun,
and still
without sleep.

Dreams
run through days
playful kittens, out to
make mischief. My head
hums to the tune
moves cross my ceiling
each night.

I’ve heard there are people
who bring fires
to the woods.
Sometimes, on a spirited path
I feel them
watch me
with headlight eyes;
crouched bodies
shaped as
hounds.

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