Thus my mind drifts off tonight,
Swimming in cooing lullabies
O’ fantasies setting psyche to fever,
Such as markets based on 1st possessor,
Or analyses o’ who the true victim o’ prejudice is,
With contexts that only in imaginations could exist.
How these words filled my pillow with feathers…
…a cycle that certainly only completes its orbit in periods of time for which our terrestrial year is no adequate measure…
My lids drift closed gazing @ the stars in the sky—
O how they twink so pasty white;
& how the moon winks me to sleep,
Whilst his hand rubs his bearded cheek.