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.