Swizzle Stick

Sleep, a Plea in Mono

April 2 — Sleep — write a poem about sleep (or insomnia)


Beneath a weighted blanket, buried deep,
I pray the coming day my soul to keep.

I count the herd of numbered, nodding sheep.
I visualise a cliff & take a leap

then see myself a supine, snoring heap.
I plant the poppies, watch them grow, & reap,

no benefits. So now I read & weep.
The horns are sharp on Marco Polo's sheep.

O wakefulness for sale, now going cheap!
I do request of little Miss Bo Peep

to take her crook & knock me out, & creep
away into the wake on easy sweep

but I stay conscious, & the stairs are steep.
wherefore hast thou forsaken me,

o sleep.








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