The Unslept

In the wind of the night,

a dog howls at the crescent

moon fractioned against

the round shadow

of its former fullness, leaking absinthe

dreams over the restless, fretful earth,

troubling its insomniacs

with wide-eyed consciousness,

as if Lethe flowed around them

but they somehow remained completely dry.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper

 

 

Rough Night

On the after side of midnight’s stroke,

from anxious dreams I awoke.

It rained.

 

Restless, wakeful, I had a smoke,

a glass of wine tasting of oak.

Heard a train.

 

Finally went back to a sleep

fitful rather than deep.

Woke drained.

 

Copyright 2013

T. Allen Culpepper