Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Half Past Sleep

I have gone half past sleep down insomnia road. The map's all screwed up, the monuments to warm milk pour over the express sleeping pill highway. Perhaps I should just pull over and consult the warm pillow leaning against the light post. Mr. Pillow, do you know the right way to get to dreamland? He shakes his fluffy head; goosefeathers sprinkle out onto the melting clock ground. I've missed you, he says, where did your head go? On top of a pyramid-shaped building my skull is bathed in neon, a symbol for a new casino: The Thoth-icana. My eyes bounce unwanted Z's from entering, and my ears give nightmare monsters free drinks if they promise to keep hiding in my closet. Suddenly, I make a decision, jump out of the car, tackle Mr. Pillow, and tie him to the train tracks instantly appearing at my feet. It's either you or me, I tell him, make a choice. A lipsticked mouth appears in the pillowcase, sticks out a loathsome lime green tongue. The train is just around the corner, smoke puffing from its pipes. A robber on top of it wrestles with a marshal, trying to escape the law and sleep in his own bed again for at least one night, even though he's a criminal and everyone knows this, and him.


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