Melatonin or Cabernet

A poet struggles with sleep while facing an uncertain future.

Melatonin or Cabernet

 

 

Shrieking volume from the twelve inch

Endless commercial interruptions

Pets insisting on fresh air

As agitations stir

 

Already bewildered with stress

Magnified by insecurities and unfamiliarity

Can’t read, can’t sit, can’t stand to talk about it

There will be no sleep tonight

 

Huddling unstill on cold steel porch chairs

Contemplating, dreading, assuming

The next day’s friendly confrontation

Towards an unforeseeable future

 

So many people have so much power

Over my life

So many laws govern the edges

Of my insomnia

Often times the only savior

Is a sip of red

Or three grams of white

 

Half an hour in front of the alphabet

Fragmenting emotions into sentences

Takes the edge off the edge

And clears the cot

 

The day winds up like a turbine for sixteen hours

How can we expect it to crash so quickly?

Yet the covers beckon and the eyes cloud

The chemicals have won

 

 

Learn more about Alex Hutchinson at:

www.SuburbanFiction.com

 

Author's Note

This poem is for an upcoming collection. Any comments might be used as advanced praise.

Reviews

[Mike Carson]

So many people have so much power

Over my life

So many laws govern the edges

Of my insomnia

I am finding this very much to my liking Alex...a parable for the modern age...especially with the close:

The chemicals have won

Very nice indeed! I have a link here you might want to take a look at...a partial list of my grandfather's writings...I just found it.

http://kitcarson.multiply.com/journal/item/264/From_The_Library_Of_Congress

[Michael]

Will we ever learn to be free or more appropriately learn to free ourselves from our own imprisonment? I think this touches on a message that we need to learn to really here instead of merely pretending, before it really is too late. nice work.

[Will Northerner]

Very good... I love the gripping word-hold-take on insomnia... very aptly applied in your word horde... great connections great thought flow... Love:

Half an hour in front of the alphabet
Fragmenting emotions into sentences
Takes the edge off the edge
And clears the cot

... The catharsis of a freeing flight of word flux... moving, setting free... mood momentum in type... Like this a whole lot...

[JanMarie]

This is true poetry. It reaches deep, touches readers at the core of what they have felt and have been unable to express, and insprires a re-read. Well done.

[Kasey]

"So many people have so much power
Over my life
So many laws govern the edges
Of my insomnia
Often times the only savior
Is a sip of red
Or three grams of white"

That's my favorite bit, although the entire piece is impressive. This particular junction is brilliant and maintains a sense of relatablity.

And we all know relatablity creates the biggest audience.

[Michelle]

I love this write the ending is stunning...... Write on write on.

Michelle

[H.]

"Can't read, can't sit, can't stand to talk about it." I love jumping lines of thought! I'm a tad obsessed with puns, though. Maybe even a bit masochistic with them.

Why is it we can't seem to find balance without the substances? It's an edge off the edge, just to reveal a new edge, and soon there's nothing left. Here's to the tormented soul!

[zig]

i really enjoyed reading this alex, very tightly written. sadly, i know this experience too well. i look forward to reading more of your work. zig

[Writer CW Kirkland]

Another poem well written, Alex. I am most impressed by writing that evokes an emotion, and you impressed me with this poem. You did a great job describing a person's insomnia and the complexities that cause the problem.

[Steffi]

"Half an hour in front of the alphabet
Fragmenting emotions into sentences
Takes the edge off the edge
And clears the cot"

[Lorraine Pearson]

"So many laws govern the edges Of my insomnia" We live in a perpetually demanding society that keeps insisting on more...more...more! Our minds & bodies are riven beyond that which they are "wired" for...and our souls left SCREAMING for sanctuary. Echoes of it cry out to us in the silence of the night...what more can we do? Medicate or Intoxicate? What will quiet the soul so the body and mind can find solace in sleep?
I can so relate to this one. Nice write Alex!
~Lorraine Pearson