Here I lay again, for drawn curtains
and restless sleep against the smooth afternoon overcast.
Gloss and film from smoke injected eyes:
a hazy description of counting sheep
O’ what a restless sleep I have found
on an ocean of sheets tonight,
where thoughts come one at a time
filtered by starry nights slow burning tail pipe cigar.
Another ****, would open sheep filled fences
and I have surely imagined wolves
in my prairies tonight: products of the night machine

But, how does this unbelievable tossing and turning of
island factory gears knock ones course a few degrees short?
Had we been taught to sail correctly
through the crunching and clanking of the industrialized night
we might have noticed smoke in our sails,
from the moon we suspected it hails
and shines a curious ray,
that signals for workers to pack their weary souls
“It’s time to go home” they say
“and forever we shall work another day”.
And it is there, among the chaos of relocation
that my eyes become anchors
that lock me into a comfortable flotation
and as distracting clouds roll past
I come to an endless sleep