Upon lying supine - eye shutter lids
into the land of Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,
where the sandman beckons and bids
dead to the webbed wide world,
yours truly immune to wakefulness
despite being tasered courtesy cattle ****,
or struck by lightning hurled
by the invisible hand of God
inert as a cow pattie or blocky clod.

While surrendering into deep slumber
recollections harken back
to the following nursery rhyme;
Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows
the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks
the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby,
cradle and all.

Scant minutes elapse before I drift off  
into the subconscious land of sleep
(while android counts/
dreams of electric sheep
to make sure none went missing)
lethargic fatigue yours truly cannot slough
after buzzfeeding my belly
and satiating thirst for knowledge  
from respective culinary,
viz sans surfeit smorgasbord
and savoring meaty mixed morsels
erudite literary trough

slogging thru most famous works
courtesy Arthur Evelyn Saint John Waugh
storied titled such as
early satires, Decline and Fall,
and A Handful of Dust,
the novel Brideshead Revisited,
and the Second World War trilogy
Sword of Honour,
which substantial tracts
terrific tomes, I have yet to read,
but nevertheless immensely admire.

So submerged, mired, bogged, et cetera
within the realm,
where extravagant small scenes thrive
within the body, mind, and spirit electric
(captivation with closest state
constituting dead weight)
ofttimes lingers long after
emerging from slumber
perhaps being rudely awakened
by the following unexpected figment.

Most unpleasant to wake
from a clangorous start,
whereby nerves frazzled,
and getting forcibly
sprung loose and unwound
untimely woke out theta sleep
what...the... creaking, effing,

hashtagging, jump/kickstarting, pinteresting,
and screeching re: sound
emanating from suspected garden gnomes,
until I finally came round
up to their impish ways and means
whimsical fancies to propound
unleashing an unexpected raft

of musings upon the cyber sea
indicating masculine pronoun
he him his after first shot
of high test coffee
(prepared by the missus she/her),
to start the day subsequently the wife found
me reading the screaming headline
news today oh boy,

whereby all manner
of political talking heads expound,
when debt ceiling comes crashing down
raising capitalistic pandemonium
sense and sensibility drowned
spelling partial/total government shutdown
point ******* at dented prez clown.

Hard to believe remembrance of things
long passed into scores of yesterday's ago,
nevertheless still faintly reverberates
within the windmills of my mind.

Case in point being the following
reasonable rhyming vignette.

The night of my spectacularly
exhausting seventh birth,
I dreamt about an amazing fictitious place,
and taint nope pull lace on Earth
cozily warm like a wood burning hearth,
where embers snap,
crackle, and pop with mirth
best show in shutterfly REM
hmm...memory wool worth

(at least for near future) stayin alive
whiskey indeed no comparison, dip pin dive
ving into subconscious realm, and drive
ving devotees mad, 'specially when bing
a **** hull lie ("FAKE"),
thus wide awake temper
aerily perhaps til five
(more minutes), when
(laugh-in) Ruth Buzzy's hairstyle as bee hive
honey combed noggin will cease to jive,
and crown jewel will suddenly seize
gnome hatter, hatter how hard I strive
to stay awake
for no particular rhyme, nor reason
won during, how far

this chap can push himself to break
king point, which presently me make
foolish poem just to slake
hungering need to slather palaver
which yukon leave or take,

since essentially nary a clue
handy dan dee blues - zee drew
pea senseless blather
basically (AWOL) din flue
zee brooked stream of consciousness
writing whatever zaps glue
*** bobbing sponge
with grayish cerebral cortex hue
cranking out words as they snap,
crackle and pop to this Jew
dishy us scribe of Schwenksville knew

dulling in an attempt
to splash unexpurgated
lunacy gobbledygook, yes
sigh hug gree quite loo
***, yet this long
(in the dent chord tooth) fell cue
Horton hears a Who,
he experiences silly (NOT solid)
milk chocolate state
ready to moo
myself to cowardly pose new

matter, an unusual burst
of energy recharged
ordinarily inactive cerebral queue,
hence maximization left no time to rue
rationality upended in
frenetic attempt to spew
until...capacity to type another poem
sputters, a dog send to you
and all otter readers within
the webbed whirled wide human zoo!