I write
consciously when water taps
to mark each sleepless moment
 
when curtains can’t contain
the flame of a full moon
nor the glare of the street lamps.
 
I write
when impulse overwhelms sleep
and verbs float in the air
 
fighting for air space
with bleating sheep
too loud.
 
One by one I shoot them down.

What do you think?

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