One Each.

Sonnet of Sleep

Last night, as I lay lying in a deep
and downy, doona’d slumber, there arose
such phantasms as manifest in sleep
(or SBS late-night slash early shows) –
a night parade of hypothetic selves,
all variations on the theme of me,
I saw a mop-haired tubby boy of twelve,
a thinner, stubbled self at twenty three;
a me with thicker gut, but thinner hair,
and one who held a toddler at his hip,
me paper-skinned and snow-haired in a chair,
me in some hospital, placed on a drip.
Though all along I lay in bed, I knew,
I, from my dream awakening, thought them true…