The Teeth of Night – a poem


***

Sleep, province of the fortunate

In ways immeasurable, wished for

Peace that comes at odd moments

Without warning, strange times,

The dark whispers with teeth

In a needle voice.

*

Magnets clicking along leylines

As the spirit rushes towards

Rest never fully reached, strain

Of trying tallied once again

When sharp breathes the throat

Of sleepless narcoleptic dark.

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