Sleepless Nights and All That Nonsense.

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When I say that I am afraid of sleepless nights, I mean that I am afraid of the silence that stretches like an elastic rubber band.It stretches and stretches to a crescendo and then snap! and I am asleep. My sleepless nights are like waiting for the farthest end of the rubber band to boing and hurt my finger.

When I say that I am used to sleepless nights, I mean that habit is a beautiful deadener. You water a sapling day in and day out and bam! one day, it's a tree. You don't understand why the visitors are applauding you. After all, a sapling WILL become a tree unless a cow eats it up. What I mean is that sense of wonder can only survive so long! A poet's imagination is like that rubber band; it will stretch and then come back home. The poet will be fast asleep under the shade of mother-habit. I am lying here without sleep for centuries just like my ancestors.

When I say that sleepless nights keep me healthy, I mean that my opinion matters. Poor old grandma is supportive, on these occasions. She declares with unbridled passion and conviction that the old 'early early' adage did her no good. She is still caustic. She is still short-sighted. She is still poor and old.

When I say that sleepless nights bring me poetry, I mean that metaphors can be tricky. Life is a metaphor too. Let's forget that we exist in a maddeningly REAL world, for a second. Let's think about the little pond behind my home. At night, I see a moon on its surface. I could touch it if I can. And no matter what the Big Brother tells you, you could touch it too.

The poet tells me to stretch my imagination. Like that easy-going rubber band. I do so on my sleepless nights. And life becomes perfect.

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