A stream of words often emerges in the dark
Lying in bed with the lights out waiting to drift off
A jumble of seemingly aimless brain activity
Lost in the night forgotten by morning
As if reading with my eyes closed
Disjointed phrases briefly appear
Incomplete thoughts that soon fade away
Without making any sense of my life
No great revelations but sometimes ideas
If there is something to construct or repair
Searching for a solution to a practical problem
Wanting to be able to figure it out
The words come on their own
Not summoned by me intentionally
Not possible for me to stop them
So I let them flow unimpeded
Treating it as a background conversation
A kind of idle chatter running it course
Until listening to it no longer holds my interest
Releasing me at last into eventual sleep
