Not Too Poetry

I’ve noticed just how much of our talking waits
until bedtime – as if until then
we have lacked permission to pause
until we’ve undressed and bundled ourselves
into our duvet time-capsules

Alas, it’s then
when the competing urgency of sleep rises
and meets our log-jammed thoughts
when our fight fades
when our wide meander sprawls
exhausted of its pungency

And it’s then
when our ability to cement thoughts
cracks in the face of creeping sleep
rerunning its classic dreams
and rebuilding forgotten worlds
which we’re fated to later abandon
in the shudder of dawn
and the demands of a new day

And so tonight, we delay
any conscious introspection
and leave our contemplations
to our advancing Sandman
slumbering and sleepwalking
deep in his wake