Insomnia 1

These dreams are not convincing.
Absurd, inconstant things.
My eyes, they pulse, so doubtful.
Just like observing wings.
And eyelashes are feathers.
Where shade and lucid meet.
They flutter from the baseless.
Lashing air with each beat.

Can sleep be so exacting?
Logic in nightmares be?
A dream itself abnormal.
To sleep and yet I see.
And under that fleshed blanket.
Swathing sight with the brain.
I grasp the most lucid thought.
A blink and pause sustained.