11: 59 Pm, Insomnia 102 Poem by RIC BASTASA

because i cannot
sleep
does not mean
that i think of
you

there is more about me
and it goes beyond
you

or even us


it is the nausea of
selfishness
that makes my eyes
open
till dawn

the nausea of
an existence that is folded
many times

until such time
that there is no possibility to
find
where the centerfold
is

until such time that
what you face is an eternal wall
as you grope
for an infinite edge

there are no more reasons
and the waking
continues

on and on and on
and on

on and one and on and on

no numbers
no images
no measure
no beat