Verse: insomnia

Nothing is sleeping

Not the unidentified
bleary eyed
street lamps
on Willow
or the occasional
semi trucks that
rumble like indigestion
intermittently through
the city

Not the clamorous winds
that harangue
the shingles
Nor the steady cacophony
of the rain
against the unblinking window
as anxious as the
drumming fingers
of an expectant father

Not the calescent
wagging tongues
of the persistent muses
seeking out
an acolyte
nor the seeds
they leave behind
countless poems
softly longing
to be born

Nothing
is sleeping
not even
sleep, it seems

nor the
insatiable
unspoken lust
gnawing at me
for you