I cannot sleep because the ache of the world’s secret calls me to awe.
I cannot sleep because the weight of the sleepers is a fire in my heart.
I cannot sleep; the ardent adorations of the dead are my ecstatic fevers.
I cannot sleep, because sleep is my lover, and she demands my kiss.
I cannot sleep, because the stars have minds that invade me.
I cannot sleep; the universe’s insects are teaching me their secret bibles.
I cannot sleep; my love has disappeared, and crucified my soul.

My blood roils and spirals, it scribes the pulses of its mysteries in these raptures of instants.

And thus, I cannot sleep.