instead of sleeping

I couldn't sleep last night, even though I really wanted to. A line of poetry was giving me nightmares. Yesterday afternoon I had casually daydreamed the first line/concept of a poem I wanted to turn into my enwr class on tuesday, but I never wrote any of it down. Then, as I got cozy in bed last night, those ideas wouldn't stop nagging me, like they were afraid of getting lost before morning if they weren't made real on paper. So then I had to throw off my very cozy covers, turn on my blindingly bright lamp, and write. Sure enough, as soon as I finished and put my head back on the pillow, I was out.
so here is a very-early-morning, semi-awake, I-was-tired-and-frustrated poem:

A million words exist to tell you.
They pass me on the bus during
my morning walk, each staring,
each with helplessly straight momentum.
I smell exhaust, they breathe in.

I'm haunted by wide-eyes,
hair falling into faces, haunted
as the whole world flies by
the open palms of still-life tragedies.

They've got all these tiny-inside places
I made-up and love and fear.
To be polite, I have them over
at every meal.
They are awful guests.
(A million words can eat you out of house and home)

I will not join them.
I will not wave them down.
I will pass them in the mornings.
They see me, pull the chord.
I see you, forget my name.