Restless Legs

by Luke Otley

Most of us are awake
in air that drills hot lightning blue
idiot truths
all the way to the core.

I feel sorry for us, for the flesh anyhow,
imagine how the mind must try to make sense of it;
over a million years of natural problems
with natural solutions
and now this,
this.

Outside quiet seeps soundless
inside my blanket and nestles there
like an animal from some wood
as I toss and turn
and my legs twitch
like crickets for want of action.