Is it me tossing or is this bed a small boat in an unprotected cove? Haul anchor I suppose. That is: turn on a light and read all night. Book open on my knees; its pages: white sails spread.
Fleeing hell, that's in the head.
Source: Acquainted with the Night: Insomnia Poems. Ed. Lisa Russ Spaar. Columbia UP, 1999. 36.