by Aidan Andrew Dun

ins 1

Dead of night
alone, the distant
murmur of an engine
lends emphasis
to a drop of water
which becomes
a neighbour’s hammer
on the wall.

Serotonin drips
down your spine
the mind is open
to every doubt
your worst enemy
is on the prowl:
the cat-burglar
of night thoughts.

Sleeplessness is
an ancient maze
in it you lose
the way to yourself
mind spins searching
for a centre
truth is a far-off
fountain singing.

Dead of night
the stars crackle
the streets hum
with void music
sirens spin through
a vast town
you alone hear
all are sleeping.

Image: Yasmine Chatila