Hands Up The Sleepless

hands at night

Hands Up The Sleepless .

Hands at night.   They creep like giant crickets.   Invading mind and slumber.    A looming finger waving at the big naughtiness.    Things with which I’d coped by day now magnified and distorted in sleepless hours.  Hands at night.   Standing over daylight wrongs.     Fingers pressing ‘round and ‘round the racecourse on mind – building to steal my breath like an endless tickle.  In the night’s quiet.   The stroke becomes a punch.  Hands grabbing me by the collar—the mane.   Tossing and thrashing events and conversations like a rag doll in jammed jaws.   Hands at night.   Greet the morning wake.  Giants of the night deflate and shrivel in withdrawal.  Hands hang like sinkers sunk.   Caught in the light and jar of dawn.

Footnote:  Ever wake up in the middle of the night and things that happened during the day magnify 100 x worse?  Or you wake in a panic with no cause?  Wrestling with sheets and mind.  This piece arrived at 2 am. The image, Artist’s Parents (II) by Otto Dix, 1924.