Insomniac Journal

At 2 o'clock in the morning I awoke. Lying there I sorted out Every detail of my life And every discussion of the previous day, Having satisfied myself That angels don't have wings Because there is no air in outer space, And the trapezius, The pectorials, And the deltoids Would have to be monstrous To propel a body so massive. Angels would look more like bats Than humans (Origin of the vampire myths perhaps). Having (at 4:15) abandoned all hope Of going back to sleep, I get up for a cup of hot cocoa, While draping a blanket Over my shoulders Instead of getting dressed, Because there is a slight chance That I might want to sleep A couple more hours. There are many mysteries That I resolved In the small hours of morning. But like a dream They have all faded Into the cold of this winter morning. Is it solipsistic in this room, Or is it just me? The solutions are melting away Like the ice crystals on the window-- The ice crystals, The dreams, And the vampires-- They all fade away with the dawn. I realize that I am a mere mortal, Retired, With too much time and space.