There was a man who didn't know how to sleep; nodding 
off every night into a drab, unprofessional sleep. Sleep that 
he'd grown so tired of sleeping.
  He tried reading The Manual of Sleep, but it just put him 
to sleep. That same old sleep that he had grown so tired of 
sleeping . . .
  He needed a sleeping master, who with a whip and a 
chair would discipline the night, and make him jump through 
hoops of gasolined fire. Someone who could make a tiger sit 
on a tiny pedestal and yawn . . .

Poet: Russell Edson
Poem: Sleep
Poem of the Day: Jun 17 2008

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