Night a plenty

Night tides that sway me over to the other side of naught.
Saturnine waves atop which I ride, washing over a shore unknown, breaking into inky surf, gasping into a final sleep, one that stays put for a few hours before I wake to toss or bury inside a sheet of foamy sands of fabric soft and a bit of cat.

Night is here and sleep refuses to beckon. Decked up in midnight sensual waiting for an invitation, to be tempted in a thorny grasp of amnesiac nightmares that surely jumble past and time lines..regrets and misfortunes, curses and boons. Subconscious in an asymmetrical loop of cubist pretension. An avant-garde distortion of confused relationships, mismatched friendships, faceless lovers, unseen streets.

Nighttime and the somber self. In a temporary resignation; paused times of repeated déjà boo's, frightened into beliefs that the wheels that churn will never change, no matter how chipped, broken, tainted the bearings. Same repetitions in similar nights, of usual beds, ditto to the dots.

Night again and I seem gone, only to awaken again and again..and again some more. Until there isn't any, until I'm only left grappling for more agains with only a handful few left..until I throw my feeble mind back to those irrational moments when I wanted a change, a different again.

Hearts..