Poem-A-Day: Day 91

What To Do?

You’ll know what to do when you get there,
when you get there,
you’ll know.

Repeated over and over and over and over,
until it becomes my
best Pavlovian response to the same question
that gets asked most of me.
I spend plenty of wakeless nights
sleeping in the sense that I keep repeating
the act of not doing it over and over and over,
lying on my back,
as I stare blankly into the darkness
reflected on the blank white ceiling
mocking me with its lack of emotion.
If I could find release,
the question probably wouldn’t be repeated
over and over and over and over.
What do I do if I’m dreaming,
what if I never find sleep?

You’ll know what to do when you get there,
when you get there,
you’ll know.