Poem for Slumberfest

I wrote this poem for a good friend of mine, Mike McGee, to read at Summer Slumberfest, a 25 hour open mike he runs annually in San Jose, CA.  It just finished a little while ago; glad to have it there.  Just a bit of fun.

Stay up all night tonight
with a poem
for a pillow,
but don’t sleep on it
because a good poem is a dream
that doesn’t ask you to close your eyes
although you certainly can
if you choose.  But don’t sleep on it —

for a good poem is wary,
sneaky as a politician on the DL
doing stuff in the shadows —
and you’ll want to catch it
and shout about it
and point at it when you do.

Did I mention don’t sleep on it?
You can’t sleep on a good poem.

A good poem’s got spikes
and a lot of tickle to it.
A good poem’s got a lot of myth
and it’s hard to fall asleep
with a chimera in your ear.
A good poem’s got a lion
and a motorcycle in it
and if that sounds like a circus
so be it, and who sleeps on a circus?

So stick this under your head
and if you start to fall asleep,
pull it right the fuck out
and stick another one under there!
One man’s poem is another geek’s poison,
one woman’s poem is another dog’s bone
and that ought to make sense to someone,

so don’t sleep on a good poem,
don’t sleep on it,

not that you’ll be able to,
not tonight
when there will be a sneaky loud circus all night long
and clowns and dogs and clogs
and bad facts and serious silly heartbreaths
and the words no one ever had the courage to invent
to explain the ones that no one has the courage to deny
and the pillows themselves will become poems
and you won’t be able to sleep at all
because you’ll be picking up your head off the floor
from here straight on
to the fire and storm of morning…
shit,
why do I even bother saying
don’t fall asleep?