The Great Unrest
When I lie down I think, âHow long before I get up?â The night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.Â (Job 7:4)
Youâd think, bedraggled as I am by the illness of my age,
Iâd be able to lounge a little.
That Iâd shut out the noise, as others do,
and I would sigh and sleep.
Let me eat Tootsie Pops, Iâd think. Let me lay in the moonlight
and grow the opposite of babyfat.
Lie, I mean. Let me lie. I have had to wrestle with grammar
all my life. And what people call ideals.
I used to love ideals, but that wasnât cool. Plus there was money to be had.
And ass. Scads of ass.
Now I forget. The principalâs your pal and not the principle.
At least Iâve retained that.
Give up your sleepless nights the man on T.V. said. Talking to me.
Like, how did he know?
I could have dozed through half a dozen shows and all the ads.
Even commercial noise
might have eventually been absorbed into my dreams.
It might have become my dreams.
But itâs hard for me to lie still (lay still?) while I am getting fucked.
Itâs late and you been at me all night and I hadnât risen from it.
I was tired.
Iâm even more tired.
But now Iâm up.