[John Riley]

Foreboding/Night

I.

Outside my window
a carpet of black rises,
hangs with no creases.
I drink the drug sleephopefulness,
stumble back to the bedclothes.

II.

Sleep rejects me.
I lie on the bed and track
the maze of ceiling cracks.
It must have been a wrinkle
of their passing caught my eye.

III.

I slip the soft dawn,
determine to not listen
for a clock to chime,
wonder if a sun is out,
if I may possess the day.

IV.

I turn from the bed,
brew a scheme to fill the light.
Try to not take note
of how long till dark comes back.
Take down my hat, cinch my coat.

[Sergio F Lima]

Hi John:

This is very nice, and not just because I can relate to it. My nights are terrible, insomnia, leg pain and all that. I noticed a certain change from your usual style of long running lines with almost no full stops. This is a softer and more intimate version of your previous work, almost confessional, if I am getting it right. I especially like the first couple of stanzas, even though the closing line is also great, without being the usual hit and-run type. I really can't find a nit to point out to you. Everything seems to fall into place, naturally and effortless. Definitely, one of your best.
Regards:

S

[Andrew Mandelbaum]

Hey John.
I am not that into this one. I do have trouble sleeping so it isn't lack of understanding (I think anyway). I don't find anything in it that isn't willing given up in the first minute of any interrogation of insomnia. I want the secrets of sleeplessness not its first easy alibi. If that makes sense. But it is well written and true to the experience, maybe like Matt's sharply written piece above. True but.... Or maybe I am just off today.