The Normal World Sleeps

He stares at the ceiling. The ceiling returns his tired gaze.
He thanks it wth words that he cannot be sure if they’re heard.
Musts and must-nots compete for control of his mind.
It is dark everywhere that his near-focussed thinking can reach.
Rearranging the lines that he thinks in a story occurs.
It gets graded and lauded and when it moves on it’s forgotten.
The ceiling and he and the darkness add up to half-three
which he thinks is the time but it isn’t. The normal world sleeps.

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