The Tongue, the Chin and the Earlobe.

Hypnos the Cat commandis you

Hate sleep.

Snatches of oblivion

The poet could fly

In dreams

The sound of a motorcycle

an airplane with a goggle wearing beagle at the controls

The Red-Baron closes,

You can hear his engine getting closer.

It purrs,

A well tuned machine.

A breeze at the ear, a close bullet!

The feeling of the rasp of …

A tongue?

The cat cleans the rim of the ear

Then uses it for a chin-rest

and purrs

while he naps,

using a human ear as a pillow

Moving the head

Pale-green eyes

A command “Go back to sleep”

Laughing inwardly,

Did I say “Hate sleep?”

This is not bad.

Good thing there are no allergies.


Sail into the harbor of my soul; tell me your heart

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