Tag Archives: sleep

Silent Sleep

In the night, silence– but not stillness of the mind.
We keep awake with the thoughts that can’t move past the traffic jam
of monotonous duties and jobs and chores and
sleep and eat and live.

So in the night before unconsciousness drifts,
We are left with very conscious thoughts. Too much sometimes,
They keep us awake, leaving us to start thinking of
All the Things we must do tomorrow,
All the duties and jobs and chores,
And then, we sleep. Tomorrow we live.

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Notice

It happened again, two things:  1.  Forgetting the amazing idea I thought of while falling asleep, the idea I believed so amazing that there would be no possible way that I would forget upon awakening, but I have, as usual, and 2.  Going to sleep moody from saying mean things.  Why do I say such things?  I suppose these things wring themselves in my brain, quicker and quicker, like a washing machine, that finally there is no where else to go but out.  And they fly out of my mouth with no restraint.  I whimpered a bit in the night to get him to notice me, for him to awaken and ask me worriedly—“What’s wrong?  Are you having a nightmare?  It’s OK—I’m here!”  But he slept soundly, without a smidge of movement that I turned up the volume on my whimpers.  He slept lovely; nothing bothered him, he had a clear conscience.  Oh!  There you go, dangling my heart out of your mouth like a cigarette.

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Mummy

I woke up before dawn to see V,
wrapped tightly in a sheet covering body and head
like a serpentine mummy.  I touched him and he
instinctively grabbed his blankets from me like slumber’s
Robbin Hood, taking back what was rightfully his.

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Quiet

— Are you sleeping?

— If you could live anywhere– with no concerns about money, and you didn’t have to stay forever, where would you live?

— Jackson Hole or Yosemite where it’s quiet.  And New York of course, but not forever.  Maybe San Fran– well, I don’t know if I’d want to live in San Francisco anymore.  A vacation place in Santa Barbara.

— I want to go to Italy and the Czech Republic.  Kundera is from Prague.  And Hong Kong and Dubai and Israel.  I should have gone to Israel for D’s sister’s wedding, but I already went to her 2nd wedding.

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Morning

It was not as if he liked to wake up early.  He couldn’t help it.  He would prefer to sleep in and enjoy the full lull of his dreams, cradling him whole.  Instead his internal clock would jab him awake and the sun would pierce his his cocoons of unconscious thought.

He looked over to the girl sleeping soundly, as he wished he could, a Mona Lisa smile settled on her face that turned up a bit more every so often, and a murmur escaping her unconsciousness that sounded like “jello”.  Usually he’d try to read, write, or watch football– it was a habit he tried to break but the mornings came and went and came again.

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