John-Ward Leighton

CAN’T SLEEP

so I’m looking for real
when there is no real around
but it feels real
but its only TV

and all my real
is at least forty years gone and
like the doppler effect of the scream of sirens
disappearing in my rear view mirror

and all my young has grown old
the wrinkled face looking back
at me in the mirror
is only too real

and all I have are memories
and rotten stomach woes
with nowhere to go
except inside

so I listen to the music
and remember
what it was like in all the commotion
to have some real emotion

remembered nights
in cheap motels
with a black velvet Elvis
and big-eyed tigers

and a bible
in the bedside table and me unconfessed
and toilet noises and voices
as she washed up and got dressed

and the addicted man still in you
says lets have some coffee and be true
and you can think of all those drugs
you didn’t do

while you watched it all go bad
in that search for yourself
and realize that it is only dumb luck
that you are still here but lonely on the shelf

men far tougher than you
have run out their string and will never see another spring
ahh, in this unfair life
there is thy sting

the memories spill out
rattling like dice on the velvet table
and you look to see if
your number has come up if you are still able

the songs play in your mind
about the why and the when
and you are reluctant
to remember the if and the then

the troubadour sings and you listen as one
a wonderful connection but nothing too deep
on an early rainy morning when you
can’t sleep