"The Product of One Hotel Room and Insomnia"
The melting crystalline snow trickles down the gutter outside our window,
Masking the sounds of the gray highway.
I hear deep breathing, from my mother,
Rattling snores, from my father.
The clock strikes 1 A.M.
More snoring, deep breathing

like a heart beat.
Breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore


in perfect iambic pentameter.

"But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,"

Breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore; breath, snore.
A sonnet of dreams.
While my dreams lay awake,


filling my head,




splashing on the pages of my notebook.
Melting snow from my mind,
My pen the gutter plip-plopping the letters down


into the street,







the page.
Meanwhile the roaring highway of my fears,
Lies in the background,
Covered by a sonnet of awake dreams,


and dreamed dreams,



and dreams yet to be dreamed.
Free to roam the edges of my conscience,



but afraid of what I will find there.
I sit in silence




With






Unquiet










Mind.