When protruding mattress springs feel like spools of barbed wire

I don't believe in you or your infinite spirit, but I do believe in sleep. Insomnia has forced this, my first prayer aimed at the bedroom ceiling. Whether it's cold sweating madness or a feverish epiphany, I am willing to worship the cuttings from your ample stereotypical beard, if only for a few decent hours of sleep. If you could see to it that the foxes refrain from screwing on my front lawn then I will give a charitable donation to the beachcomber, the one who spends his weekends looking for dogmatic symbols in the sand. He loves you very much and can't stop regaling me with the tale of how he discovered your son's face last summer in a rock pool. Seaweed hair and oil separated in the water to delineate his eyes and lips. I'll do anything for sleep, almost anything.

The beachcomber is a new design that I will soon put onto canvas. I will post some photos when it's completed.