Ommmmmmg! I'm in a good mood for the first time in about 2 weeks! Cray cray innit? I wrote this poem off the bat and haven't had time to look over it properly - I did not realise how late the hour. So yeah, I think it might be a bit odd, but really, that's kind of my speciality, so I suppose things are just moseying along nicely. I also think it's not quite finished, but I AM stupidly tired just now, probably because I've got SWINE FLU or some other retro illness that everyone has forgotten about.
Hope you're all in good spirits. Let's just really try to end war, yeah?
On the Requirement of Sleep
When they said, “What do you know about birds?”
it felt like an accusation.
I told them I didn’t know anything,
that whatever birds were mixed up in,
it had nothing to do with me.
I hadn’t seen birds in years;
we move in different circles.
I took out a pen and a city emerged from the tip.
I said, “This is where we’ll all live one day,
when the heat leaves for a better party.”
And they said, “If you can only see life
through a square window,
how do you ever expect to be anything but square?”
They had me on the ropes.
I realised we were at sea.
They handed me a telescope and said,
“What’s that on the horizon?”
I fell, eye first, through the slim brass tube,
the scent conjuring hours spent
desperately trying not to eat dirt.
At the end of it, I saw a little grey man.
“It’s sleep!” I cried. “He’s coming this way!”
And so he was, rippling, like a punch in slow motion.
“He doesn’t want to see you,” they said.
“Your heart rate is disrespectful.
Your name is all you have left.”
My face fell, splitting into exactly one million pieces,
scattering like a handful of chickenfeed.