it's late
can't sleep
mind restlessly slips
from thought to thought
caught in its own web
like a spider
in bed
stuck on sheets with its sticky feet
fleeting, flying thoughts
tease and sweep
within reach
tense turning
over and over
the covers crease while the overhead fan
scans the suffering scene
like a copters drone
or a huge insect, prone
hovering within reach

too much imagination is bad for your health I reckon!