I Want to Go to Sleep, but Poems…
I want to go to sleep, but poems keep
On brushing with their wings against my eye.
I want to take a fatal nap, but sleep
Is flicked away by angel pinions high
Above such cowardly retreat. Feather
Upon feather brushes up against me
As seraphim of sonnets together
With bright archangels of villanelles free
Me from these thoughts. And, yes, sometimes fallen
Inhabitants of Hell tempt me to write
Limericks and other such appallin’
Light poetry to brighten up their night.
So Heaven and Hell both sneakily connive
To keep me writing, rhymingly alive.