Nighttime Ritual

I'm sitting upright on my bed.
Left leg bent, right leg hanging off the edge.
Television has become a swarm of car and phone sex ads,
so it's time for him to go.
I grab the cordless phone from the cradle,
move it bedside, though no one ever calls.
I take off my glasses and hear the click
as the temples collapse toward the lenses.
I rub my eyes. This used to be a ritual
I picked up from movies, it seemed so grown-up
and thoughtful, but it means something now even if I don't know what it is...
The world's out of focus now, a bit
easier with which to deal. I pull
the chain above my head and the room is almost dark,
save the clock on my vcr and the flickering surge protector
between the bed and nightstand.
I never seem to be able to catch my thoughts this
time of night, but it feels like I'm summing something up,
compiling some list. I rest my head on my hand
on my pillow and start looking around the blackness
that I feel more than I see.
I wonder if I've turned everything off, if I
did today what I wanted to do. I think about my
ex-girlfriend and I wonder why she doesn't call
and why I spent another day alone. Is the world
beneath my contempt, or am I even lower than that?
I wonder where the switch is that turns awake to asleep.
I try to picture turning my brain inside out, like I need
to escape into my head to sleep.