Directing

The dreams are back.
My cyclic pressure pushes
psychic replays of past
and present mixed into
an edgy tangle.

I am a boy again
weighted with all my adult
sins and accomplishments.
An odd suffering. The
vanished appear in any
guise to stir my nocturnal
storms.

Fugitive sleep undermines
clean awakening. Showered
and dressed hours early,
unfocused urgency surrounds
even the morning coffee.