Insomnia is the tyranny of the future perfect tense

Insomnia is the tyranny of the future perfect tense.  A tickle or hitch invades breath right when calm sets in.  Begin anew.  A stray thought fires an eager synapse, and what fires, rewires.  Begin anew.  A four-legged mutt runs after some prey or joy, who knows, in the spirit world of four-legged mutts, kicking his legs and letting forth half-muted yips and barks.  Begin anew.

A straggly-haired child invents a reason (as though all reasons aren’t invented, in some way) to pad down the hall and inhabit a querulous moment.  Begin anew.  Mourning comes unbidden.  Begin anew.  Succumb to back-lit scrolling, a search for consoling distraction, a console squared and beaming and electrically connected to whomever else took the time to add to the eversprawl.  Begin anew.