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the Unsleepers
i feel the steady rumble of the ground
it's the dreaded march of the unsleepers
they come for me
they know i'm awake
they know everything
i pray i will fall asleep
before they get me
i'm on the list
march march march
drone drone drone
they are coming
there's nowhere to run
nowhere to hide
the unsleepers have the power
radar detection for insomniacs
and their march has begun
they are coming for me
please let sleep take me
before they do
the Unsleepers
the Unsleepers
read me, but don't play me backwards
dakota alien-sky raphael
dakota alien-sky raphael
- Ann Bingham
- Posts: 342
- Joined: February 10th, 2006, 3:56 pm
- Location: Lexington, Kentucky
- Contact:
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
just a mindless ramble inspired by your poem
thanks for the inspiration
Sometimes it takes a leap of faith to sleep
I don't think I have prayed for anything more fervently
Just to close my eyes and drift off to oblivion
No dreams could have been more terrible to face
Than the torments of my conscious thoughts
Drops of blood on my underwear
The unconscious is an artist that could deal with it better than I could.
So I said screw it and threw out my pride
got down on my knees and prayed for sleep
And then I lay down and went to sleep
I had a dream about a black Jesus, an american black man, he said now get up and walk like a man.
The next day I went back and had the vasectomy reversed
And love had no pride when I called out his name
That urologists office on K st with the picture of Golda Meir smiling down at me. Will I carry that memory trace ito the grave.
Sorry about spilling my guts, if I was a poet I suppose I would be one those confessional types like St Ann of Sexton. A martyr to the psychiatrist's couch and bad translations of Freud.
thanks for the inspiration

Sometimes it takes a leap of faith to sleep
I don't think I have prayed for anything more fervently
Just to close my eyes and drift off to oblivion
No dreams could have been more terrible to face
Than the torments of my conscious thoughts
Drops of blood on my underwear
The unconscious is an artist that could deal with it better than I could.
So I said screw it and threw out my pride
got down on my knees and prayed for sleep
And then I lay down and went to sleep
I had a dream about a black Jesus, an american black man, he said now get up and walk like a man.
The next day I went back and had the vasectomy reversed
And love had no pride when I called out his name
That urologists office on K st with the picture of Golda Meir smiling down at me. Will I carry that memory trace ito the grave.
Sorry about spilling my guts, if I was a poet I suppose I would be one those confessional types like St Ann of Sexton. A martyr to the psychiatrist's couch and bad translations of Freud.
- ButtercupNutSwirlz
- Posts: 49
- Joined: February 15th, 2006, 12:41 pm
- Location: Lost in a notion
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