i woke up at 3am this morning,
not for any reason,
not because i wanted to,
but when i tried to go back to sleep,
the crows started barking,
and my cat started chirping,
and a neighbor’s dog started mooing,
so i thought, well, maybe i didn’t really
wake up at all,
but damn does it feel like it later in the day
this might just be my perception,
but i feel like i’m a better poet when
i’m sleep deprived
perhaps it’s the lack of self-editing i do,
perhaps it’s because it feels like a barbell is pushing into my chest
and i need to write this last thought, last sentence, last stanza
before i go to sleep,
whenever that will be,
i like to treat sleep like a treat
that i can only do when i’ve written so many words,
and in such a way that they’re semi-coherent,
this poem might not be all that great,
but at least finishing it finally means i can go to bed
i went to sleep on the 6th,
but did not wake up until the 9th,
and when i asked where the time had blown,
a shadowy figure standing over me
punched me in my face
so that i could go back to sleep
Fred Aiken Writing 