Sleep

Sleep has eluded me all my life

I can never get enough

I lay through the night, composing worlds

And editing the past--as if I could change anything

I stare at the ceiling and pet the dog,

Turn on the television

Hoping for dialogue interesting enough to distract me

Or better yet, dull enough to bore me to sleep

I count off the hours, hoping for six

Or four

Or even three good hours of nothing

Hoping for the inspiration of actual dreams

Or even the nonsensical visions

Which are more often gifted to me

Just before I wake