It’s time once again for Late Night Poetry here at The Skinny (where our motto is: Sleeplessness, Too, Shall Pass, Because if it doesn’t I Suppose Death Results, And That Would Certainly Kill Off A Lot of New Parents, Wouldn’t It?)

And now, for some Maya Angelou. Who could say it better? No one, is who. As you will see:

Insomniac

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.