Some sleeping

I let the long yellow light in through my window
because the world is getting darker.
I say to the hills that I need more space
but they keep creeping in, peopled
with their faces and rocks that seem to say
now some sleep sweetheart.

But I shout out
that there’s no time for sleep now,
the ditches are deeper than all our dreaming.
I think we don’t know which way we’re going
and keep conjuring bricks from factories
with machine marked numbers
like screeping scarabs
sleeping along the flank.

After three nights of not sleeping
I saw myself
stuck under a poster sky,
my sister and I palm slapping
pan sized pieces of blue tack to trees
trying to keep something straight.

The books I keep close
creep like woodlice out of my periphery
feeling only for their little red eyes
along lengthy woodchip landings
to the bathroom where they see
similies in the shower head,
a solution in free falling down the drain.