The flower of my insomnia
blossoms on the back of a clock
it grows in the soil of a family cancer
it flowers like I’m buried alive
as though a heavy snowfall
thaw to bright air and exhale its pain
a shred of rest wavering in spirit wind
the flower of my insomnia
a Venus flytrap for my blood cells
feeding my anxiety back to me
my night inspiration and inward light
that lack a season
the Queen of flowers
the white rose of the black hours
the death mask of Keats with petals open
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Salvatore Ala 
love this, Salvatore, and can relate 🙂
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Thank you, Mark.
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good to read this very fine poem again, Salvatore – and can relate very much to the subject – have bailed from fb and old blog – and wanted to say hello here – and that I will be looking in at your blog regularly to read any new poems – hope you and yours area well, dear friend. Mark (Mayes) 🙂
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Thanks Mark! Great to hear from you! I was worried and sent a Messenger message. I totally understand. One can’t work with distractions like fb. Paul’s also shut down. I distance myself by writing at a window. Well, thanks again for your kind words and for reaching out. I love your writing. There’s a touch of magic in you, dear friend. I wish you the very best. Sal.
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