(if you’ve ever been on the road, this may sound familiar; even if you               haven’t, there are things that we all feel…)

Another day
Less than perfect
Ask 9 out of 10, it was acceptable
I’m always tenth
Decisions and actions beyond the routine
Are not always right
You can reach a point where each movement
Requires an amends
And then it’s over

Things to do
Early check out
Nod off before you make your wake up call
Or pack
For twenty three minutes
A perfectly good hour to go to sleep
Be on time
And the fear of screwing up
Brings you back

You call
You pack
Saved again by professional nocturnal intervention
Settle in
TV, a book and it’s three hours before you wanted
To get up
And no sign of that easy sleep
You came in with
It quietly uncurled itself from your warm hold
Found it’s socks under the chair
Dressed silent in the dark
And walked out the door holding it’s shoes in it’s left hand
Without saying good bye or even looking
And you watch with one eye open
Letting it happen

This is the hour for great universal thoughts
The hour for decisions and review
A time for the past and the future
To smash against your head
Like two shopping carts full of brick, broken glass and wet clothing

And try to decide
Which person who really has nothing to do with your life
Can get an expensive phone call tomorrow
So that you can have the satisfaction
Of being able to have them say
To their day-to-day friends
“Guess who called me from South America today?”

And then you know
That you’re officially lonely
And up too late
Realizing that if she could be here
She wouldn’t
No one fits the description
Even the fantasies fade on the back straight
Stealing a memory of someone else’s wife
For five minutes
Ends in confusion

So I write
Considering an all nighter
The kind that ends 5 minutes before
you’re supposed to wake up
Which leaves you truly fucked
(and this is sober, mind you)

But at least I have something
To show for it
To ponder
To put away before the light goes out

The mind begins to whisper
“Shower now, you’ll be late tomorrow
and we already know how good you are at that…”
Will this thing ever end?

Now I’ve tried writing in every strange posture
Realizing how uncomfortable I am
Kneeling in bed, praying for sleep
And getting bad penmanship instead

I’m not quite sure what insomnia is like
Being that I love to sleep so much
But I bet it’s like being on the road
Far away from home.