When the world is too much for me,
The pigeons too ugly;
And the roof of humanity—
That marble monstrosity—
Buried with dust on antennae,
Grit in the fingernails,
Water for boundary,
Air for a temple,
Vista for idol;
I think of the time I had slipped
In the snow, so I fell at angle.
I could have slept away the years
And wrote a novel in my mind
With a feeding tube my bistro.
I could have fallen off a cliff,
I could have fallen on the knife,
I could have dared the man to shoot me,
I could have slept a dozen years.
Sleep is just the death I call the center of my life.
The rest that eludes me awake
Evades me in dreams, so I grind to the finish
Of sweat in the night and swallow enamel.
I awaken exhausted, in search of that rest of a child;
Where's the rest of that child
Who had names for inanimate objects
And déjà vu moments,
Where sleep and alertness combined in the memory?
Who notices sleep 'till it's lost?
Then we seek it, apostate in prayer to the wrathful.
I would cover my eyes if I could
To destroy what offends me—to cover the dust with more dust,
Raise all the oceans to bury it,
Leaving the people intact but their madness asleep
In a slurry of dust, sand and water.
"A new Swedish study shows an increased risk of developing the sleeping disease narcolepsy for children vaccinated with swine flu vaccine Pandemrix, a drug manufactured by pharmaceutical giant GlaxoSmithKline. "
—The Local, 29 Mar 11 09:49 CET
http://www.thelocal.se/32878/20110329/
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