(joining "Wynken, Blynken and Nod"
at figurative drop of hat
even if yours truly immediately
woke from his slumbers).

When zapped of energy the sandman doth knock
no matter readout of analog or digital o'clock
hankering urge to sleep
exponentially increased with every passing tick tock.

Our marital bed
occupied about two and half score years
since we (me and the spouse) wed
even during spate (sowing wild oats -
regarding gathering rosebuds while I may)
of mine risqué business,
when unnamed husband did dread

with extreme trepidation manning left side
(picture said individual
lying on his back) atop
(sleep number)  mattress,
predicting spouse considered me
(courtesy crimes of passion)
better off dead.

Though both deux daughters
(figuratively) flew the coop
mine wife chides me courtesy
(unwittingly preceding trend
concerning popular couture),
where she playfully
pulls down mine baggy sweatpants
leaving drawers droop
around mine skinny (think chicken)
spindle shank like bow legs

bent appendage vaguely hinting hula hoop
(fake detail here, which singular purpose
to supplement reasonable rhyme
ultimately sole purpose
to lasso and loop)
exert tight hold on reader's imagination
more torturous versus unsuspected prey
subjected to deafening war whoop
after cannibals counted scalps
sacrificed victims as human zoup.

Before concluding current poem
(which prompts me to think
metaphysically ruminating regarding
when does authored written work
reach childhood's end)
possibly vexing readers
to trot off to zz top less land

miserably (perhaps purposely)
failing to pony up
reining in long overdue adieu,
where beastie boy king of schnorrers
snores dreaming about
foo fighting motley crue (in dire straits)
donned in gay apparel characteristic ecru

whereby unconsciousness
REM memorable cycles found
upper and lower eyelids shuttered
courtesy invisible glue
hermetically sealed airtight
as blocks of ice constituting
(albeit housing) an igloo

temperatures greater than
five below fahrenheit
finds me freezing off my kazoo,
hence despite somnambulant state
I (charming cheater) trod along
tundra of broken
(not very sweet) dreams.

Invariably somnolence finds me dead tired
no recourse available
when energy meter expired.

Impossible mission to thwart repose
thus once noggin plunges into pillow
thus these lovely bones
approximate rigor mortis pose
faint breathing detectable out me nose
intermittent twitching of limbs
characterize highs and lows
stuff mine dreams are made
where mishmash of images juxtapose.