Insomnia

When wooden ship-bed
creaking down the years
fails to compass me a harbour
creased sheets are furrowed waves
crested by turbulence
storm-tossed wakefulness.

Eelectrons zap and zing
across my synapses
lit up like a pin-ball game
thoughts ricochet
steel ball from sprung-spring
vivid, flashing, neon
plugged into the mains.

Then unleashed word-dogs
leap and tumble, barkful,
yapping at the heels of sleep
tearing up the darkness.
No hope of fluffy-cloud sheep
gliding elegant over gate
one-by-one to be counted.

Bleating, barging, tripping in unseemly haste
they’ve bolted to the corner of the field
heads down to hide, hindquarters all exposed
to the yapping and the unkind nips
of the worrying words.