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Insomnia Concerto Sensoriale
3:27am
I’m awake
like the sun
with only
the moonlight
keeping me company;
words flow
grow
they know
I need sleep -
eyes full of sand
but a mind full
of patterns
colors
shapes, unidentifiable
at least until
I look them up
in the light
of later today
converging melodies
written upon
the shifting amalgam
~of thoughts~
too many to detail,
colliding in their hurry
to pique my interest,
showing off to grab
my full attention,
all equally self-important
which is to say,
all equally unimportant;
~married to sound~
the slightly warbled,
off-center sweep
of the ceiling fan,
the manufactured tin rain
trying hard
to make me believe
from my pretend-noise box,
the faint electronic hum
of a life fully plugged in;
~infused with smell~
the stale ghost
of the cigarette
I smoked,
sitting cross-legged
on the floor
beside my open patio door,
the frosty air
tempering my fevered
rumination,
the sweet undertone
of nag champa sticks
to which I’m currently curating
a curious addiction,
the acrid lingering
of forgotten chicken
from an unremarkable
dinner
a sliding symphony,
they all perform at once;
music composed
from the numbers
on the antique wall clock,
round beats
with squared notes
low, voluptuous bass,
lips pressed to skin
in a smooth soprano swing;
light dances on the letters
that spell the numbers
as they pass through
my mind
like strategically scattered
street lamps,
approaching and fading
in that frenzied way
they seem
when driving home
from places
you shouldn’t have been
and stayed in
way too late
my orchestra
is delightfully defiant,
refusing to listen
to the tap! tap! tap!
of my conductor’s baton;
instead crowding their heads
together,
they conspire to create
a collaboration
of my brain’s misfiring
and the resulting harmony
haunts me
it’s beauty mathematical
logical and yet ethereal,
it’s barely contained chaos,
and it’s formulations -
equations I don’t comprehend
yet feel as familiar as family,
float languidly
above my head,
breaking my heart once again
for what feels like
the millionth time
that I can’t share this
with you,
this Concerto Sensoriale
majestic in its presentation,
it’s beauty compels tears
to jump to their deaths
in the hollows
of my cheeks,
but I’m the only one
who will ever
know of my masterpiece,
played in the soft light
of a million stars
in a cold, clear sky -
keeping me
awake
I’m awake
like the sun
with only
the moonlight
keeping me company;
words flow
grow
they know
I need sleep -
eyes full of sand
but a mind full
of patterns
colors
shapes, unidentifiable
at least until
I look them up
in the light
of later today
converging melodies
written upon
the shifting amalgam
~of thoughts~
too many to detail,
colliding in their hurry
to pique my interest,
showing off to grab
my full attention,
all equally self-important
which is to say,
all equally unimportant;
~married to sound~
the slightly warbled,
off-center sweep
of the ceiling fan,
the manufactured tin rain
trying hard
to make me believe
from my pretend-noise box,
the faint electronic hum
of a life fully plugged in;
~infused with smell~
the stale ghost
of the cigarette
I smoked,
sitting cross-legged
on the floor
beside my open patio door,
the frosty air
tempering my fevered
rumination,
the sweet undertone
of nag champa sticks
to which I’m currently curating
a curious addiction,
the acrid lingering
of forgotten chicken
from an unremarkable
dinner
a sliding symphony,
they all perform at once;
music composed
from the numbers
on the antique wall clock,
round beats
with squared notes
low, voluptuous bass,
lips pressed to skin
in a smooth soprano swing;
light dances on the letters
that spell the numbers
as they pass through
my mind
like strategically scattered
street lamps,
approaching and fading
in that frenzied way
they seem
when driving home
from places
you shouldn’t have been
and stayed in
way too late
my orchestra
is delightfully defiant,
refusing to listen
to the tap! tap! tap!
of my conductor’s baton;
instead crowding their heads
together,
they conspire to create
a collaboration
of my brain’s misfiring
and the resulting harmony
haunts me
it’s beauty mathematical
logical and yet ethereal,
it’s barely contained chaos,
and it’s formulations -
equations I don’t comprehend
yet feel as familiar as family,
float languidly
above my head,
breaking my heart once again
for what feels like
the millionth time
that I can’t share this
with you,
this Concerto Sensoriale
majestic in its presentation,
it’s beauty compels tears
to jump to their deaths
in the hollows
of my cheeks,
but I’m the only one
who will ever
know of my masterpiece,
played in the soft light
of a million stars
in a cold, clear sky -
keeping me
awake
Published 2nd Jan 2020
Author's Note
Insomnia + Synesthesia = Concerto Sensoriale
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 6
comments 7
reads 385
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
2nd Jan 2020 5:44pm
Dear L,
You have captured the middle of the night cacophony of insomnia with laser precision. Hour after sleepless hour of sounds and shadows, and noise and music from that noise to create that symphonic masterpiece.
It feels impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced this but you did. “but I’m the only one
who will ever
know of my masterpiece” a piece of genius right here. A very thoughtful work depicting the process of the mind when sleep deprived and hungry for rest.
Happiest of New Year wishes with hugs and positve vibes!!
H🌷
You have captured the middle of the night cacophony of insomnia with laser precision. Hour after sleepless hour of sounds and shadows, and noise and music from that noise to create that symphonic masterpiece.
It feels impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced this but you did. “but I’m the only one
who will ever
know of my masterpiece” a piece of genius right here. A very thoughtful work depicting the process of the mind when sleep deprived and hungry for rest.
Happiest of New Year wishes with hugs and positve vibes!!
H🌷
2nd Jan 2020 7:35pm
Nice to meet you. 👏😎
No wonder you write as you do. We don't share your symphony, but you treat us to art you scoop out from it.
Great poetic biography. In just a night's moment with you.
👏👏👏👏
No wonder you write as you do. We don't share your symphony, but you treat us to art you scoop out from it.
Great poetic biography. In just a night's moment with you.
👏👏👏👏
4th Jan 2020 10:11pm
First off, what a title. Intriguing. There are islands of alliteration in the flow stream that titillate. You've got the meter and caesura of your writes down to an organic rhythm. You have a way of spilling the intangible depths of your life experience that is fluid, has clarity and proportion. Been over it a few times, not pausing at any particular point, just letting it hum through me with it's somewhat frenetic energy, in the unmoored hours of night. Great work.
7th Jan 2020 9:13pm
Meta-cognition on the fly. Somehow your work injects so much juice to what's normally considered dry subjects. The depth of analysis from your fascination is present in the gaps, feeding between the lines, and keeps me enrapt.
10th Jan 2020 3:27am
This is really an exquisite snapshot of the time described, I can relate to it, having been awake at that time. There is something about that transition between night and day that has a stillness, a void of course, and you've captured it with such descriptive, lasting impressions that fit into a palpable, relatable scene. Also, this has the unique combination of effective storytelling and poetic rhythm that casts a feeling. I loved reading this..
11th Jan 2020 2:07am
1st Mar 2023 3:58am
