It should be easy,
maybe,
to turn off,
but yet I can’t.

When the music stops,
is there
a free seat
for thoughts?Who knows?

All the distractions
are great
while they last,
but thenthey don't.

Then I find myself
washed up
in a daze,
on parcheddry sand.

And the small hand points
to three,
not a sound
to splitmy thoughts.

The most noisy place
of all
is my mind
when allis still.

It will be okay,
surely,
come the morn,
in lightof day?

But then all the thoughts
wait here,
bide their time,
don’t goaway.

In fragmented gaps
between
space and time
they lurkand hide.

Waiting patiently
until
in the night
they strikeonce more.

And I overthink
it all
yet again.
No sleeptonight.