Staying Up Late

I’ve got a problem that keeps me up at night,
Like a nightmare, like a cold sweat,
Like taking sixteen caffeine pills,

It starts with P,
and ends with oetry,

It’s the stringing together of words
in whatever manner I please
to convey some meaning
or some scene or some whimsical fantasy

And sometimes its value, this “P” and this “oetry”
surpass that of even sleep, it being, in some way,
as restoring as dreams.