#10 Didn't happen, ironically, because I was reading poetry to people. #11: Sleep Becomes an Entity

Like trying to get a cat into a travel kennel.

Like a two year old running after a remote controlled car.

Like a basketball rolling off the court.

There are drugs, there are songs, there are movies

that are supposed to help, like watching the ceiling drip

down onto a molding pillowcase.

Like mouthing the words to a speech.

Like grounding a paper airplane.

Like unpopping popcorn.

You want to wrap it in bubble wrap and push it
out a window. You want to rock it gently

in a giant recliner. You want to smother it

with a metal teddy bear. 

There are folk remedies, mantras, prayers

that are supposed to help. But really,

you are chasing it down the hall, breathing heavy,
as it ducks and dodges and shrieks away from you,

and you, dead eyed, singular, keep charging, 

brandishing your knife.