Sleepy Oye

Sleepy dreams for the better.

No mere catnap, no peaceful snooze
nor feather-bedded doze for sorting out
the day-to-day, (subconscious ploys extant.)
No, this was whirlwind dream, a rotor blade
asleep, a catnap helicopter flight in which
the Earth grew small and cirrus swirled
among the cockpit gadgets, and jet-
stream roared like staid arrogance
unloosed to grate like sand. 

Sleepy Oye eyed eagle claws, long talons
tearing leather seat as whirlybird in air
atilt, the wop-wop-wop in long blade
flap, and up into the air with dread
the blue of sky now turning gray,
cold as shroud, the firmament
becoming black abyss,
terror of on high.

Then Sleepy Oye with REM in stomach-
churning turbulence, accelerated by the
jet (stream), soared upside down with
vertigo.

Crash, sawing logs--how pupils dance
when dreams appear!  Each roll of eye
a flight for weave, a stitch in nightmare’s
tapestry.  Thereafter, Sleepy achieved land,
all right, and pledged to stop cocaine at once,
exempting sensitive nostrils.


27 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
3-7-16