There was a man who didn't know how to sleep; nodding <br />off every night into a drab, unprofessional sleep. Sleep that <br />he'd grown so tired of sleeping. <br /> He tried reading The Manual of Sleep, but it just put him <br />to sleep. That same old sleep that he had grown so tired of <br />sleeping . . . <br /> He needed a sleeping master, who with a whip and a <br />chair would discipline the night, and make him jump through <br />hoops of gasolined fire. Someone who could make a tiger sit <br />on a tiny pedestal and yawn . . .<br /><br />Russell Edson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sleep-3/
