Somniloquy.

I have developed a habit
One that I might come to regret
Some day. Eerie.
Habits don't last long
This one wouldn't either
But it has. 270 days now.
I sleep late. That often ends
In groggy mornings at work
And fulfilling nights.
Not that way, stupid.

I am resolving a few knots
That have rankled
My conscience for some time
Not continually. But consistently.
More than 3,000 days
All this math, sometimes works
Moulds perspectives.
About time, I think.
To move beyond the math
Beyond fathomable.

I never could learn swimming
I am afraid of depths
As much as I am
Shallow. And heights.
I can't hold my breath
Literally. Figuratively,
I once did. 3,000 days ago.
Hoping I would survive
A lifetime of breathlessness.
Wasn't a habit. Did me in.
I gave up. In 2,730.
Swimming in 3.

There are two things
To this new habit of mine.

What I gain. Time. It waits.
Trust me. And restlessness.
Night brings that. Disquiet.
Solitude is ravaging
And canny. Like a Mongol horde.
Breezes past my conscious defence

What I lose. Lull. With it, the war
Between objects. And people.
In my subconscious.
Lotus. Ruins. Rains.
A face here. A phase there.
Creativity. For elsewhere,
It's a travesty. Things that I control.

When I am awake, I struggle
With the knots. Any amount of time
Apparently, is not enough
For them, knots. Nor for the naughts
That I have been drawing
Out of my hat for 3,000 days
And 3, in the pool
While swimming.

When I am not awake,
I effortlessly swim
Through them, knots.
A part of that is because
I manage to find someone
To help me in the process.
That someone always talks.

I miss conversations.