I toss.
I turn.
I flail… I wail.
I wait; I try counting sheep.
I stretch.
I rest.
I try my best.
But I just will not go to sleep.
I hope and pray
At the end of the day
That slumber
Catches soon…
Yet somehow, I realise,
I’m not in bed
But I’m walking on the Moon.
My coat is green
And I’ve lost a glove
And I’ve searched for it
Everywhere
And then I see it
On a shelf
On the cruise ship
Over there.
I catch a leaf
As it blows by
Which lifts me off
The ground
And I hold tight
As I’m carried high
And see views
Of all around.
The leaf becomes a feather
Attached to the neck
Of a giant hawk
Which turns its head
And looks at me…
I’m sure it wants to talk.
It squawks
And flies
And dips
And dives
And tosses as it turns
Then it lets me go
As I fall below;
When suddenly
I glide.
I blink, surprised
And when I reach the ground
I need to rub my eyes
I’m back in bed
Eyes full of grit…
Yes; the Sandman’s been around.
* *** *
The Mansionic Perspective 
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