After many pages flowing
prose my eyes begin to close
I find a marker in the folds
and turning over to my right
I let the book slip slowly to
to the floor.
Then coming up
and turning off the light
I find again the switch
is stiff and the lamp is
light the work to turn it
off requires a act of will
that almost wakes me up.
In doing this I find
as I have found
so many nights before
the base of the lamp
is made to mimic the
shape of a breast.
I bless the kindness
of this good night
then turning left to lie
upon my side I pause and
reaching down I rescue
my testicles from between
my legs and gently lay them
out on my left thigh where
they can rest in peace.
Then
as part of settling down
I tug the lower pillow
towards my neck and
stretch my right leg
long and down the bed.
Now I lift my
right leg high
and bring it down
to trap a fold of
bedclothes as a
pocket against the cold.

And all these futile things I do
I do to fill my mind with words
and overworked it often works
but sometimes somewhere
it breaks down
between the babble of the day
it sometimes somewhere
just breaks down
before the saving grace
of sleep it fails
and then and there I find
that once again I am
thinking of you

Sean Joyce

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-let-the-book-slip-slowly-to-the-floor/