if i fall asleep on the couch
one more time,
so i occupy my time with obsessive
know why they call it surfing
like being caught in
a riptide. you go
where it throws you.
sick of being not-tired
waiting for the clock to circle back
into hours that seem reasonable to more
than chronic insomniacs,
or just those
whose brains spiral into the void
he loves me not, he loves me not. he
loves me. [not.] she. they.
trying not to stare
into the mirror, as though
somewhere on my body is written
an answer my brain might accept,
like a cat.
might be better, i might be able
to tell you
if i could remember with clarity