December 7th, 2002 - 1:54 a.m.

Attempting to fall asleep.

It enters lightly, unencumberingly, sex like. Stick thin. Travels up the spine, in a tender winding motion. Expands throughout the rib cage, and the microscopic grooves in the ribs become apparent. Inhale.

Exhale. It enters quickly, and without grace, into the bones of the arms. Expanding the grooves of the fingertips, making them sonic. Feeling the waves, tsunami like, grazing the forehead.

The legs no longer exist. And gravity has turned lawless, the blanket losing its accustomed weight, drifting towards the ceiling. The mattress heavy against the back. Feeling the valleys and mountainous properties of the clothing, making an impression.

Inhale. And it all dissipates. With a drip drip drip. And out of sync breathing patterns. It never really was. Though for a moment, all the hairs could be felt, each follicle meeting its own sandpaper and woodsmith.

Exhale. The blanket drifts down, and settles its weight again. The nodular coding of cotton against back sink into the floor.

And it is realized that sleep has eluded capture again.

N.

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