Insomnia

Within a boundless sea of spiral galaxies,
white waves of stars adrift in black,
revolving worlds, ringed or rocky,
my Universe implodes.
Reality shrinks down
smaller than a family home,
a darkened bedroom,
two white pills
with a shot
of whiskey.

I lie strapped beneath blankets
in the sharply curved hull
of medication,
perusing worlds by remote control,
choosing destinations
through the blue flicker
of my capsule window.

I swallow hard, count backwards,
sleep's seratonin fuel
switched OFF to ON.
Long before zero,
in the dreamed reality
before the dream,
launch begins in a fire
of visual purple,
not up, but down
toward sleep.

Scott Speck
12/02/99