The binding force

Turning and tossing and tumbling in my bed
It’s well past 2 and I’ve lost track
of how many hours I’ve been whacking my head
It’s starting to crack at the seams
and should soon explode

He’s zooming through the room
Barraging through my stuff
with a thorough intent to destroy it all overnight
Raising exactly the kind of hell
a jittery cat in a clumsy apartment should sound like

I wish he’d stop
Not that it’d make any difference, but still

He does this
When he hasn’t done anything worthwhile during the day
missed his chance to tear off some songbird into pieces, maybe
or just didn’t get any lay
I assume

We are not all that different
My midnight agitations are confined to the boundaries of my bed,
his is not