Poetry is the new (counting) sheep

Some poem-like phrases have been nudging me lately as I fall asleep. I assembled them into two poems - this one is the more coherent, in my opinion.

Falling AsleepWhen tiredness overtakes me,
I become a mage, and this my place of power.
I pull the covers over my head,
And with darkness neatly collapse the universe around the space I occupy,
Pin my throbbing brain inert inside my skull,
And disprove the hand held up to my face.
With stillness, I transform my limbs into heavy memories of motion, weights quiet as ghosts,
And wait for them to vanish.
Having disposed of my body and my surroundings,
All that remains is to wait for the unruly flock of my thoughts to choose a dreamward direction,
Wait for them to disappear, one by one, gathered in by gentle tentacles of nonsense -
These are the only animals I count.