Eight Poems

Sleep

These days I doze off, sleep longer.
Sleep drags me off, first by inches,
then by yards -
now miles closer to eternity,
that is another name for poverty.
So sleep steals my wallet.
It should be shackled, jailed,
allowed a period of recreation,
time off for good behaviour,
paroled. As for me, I have life to live,
work to do, books to read.
Think of me as one of those
old Portuguese wines.
Let me get dusty, decant me
after one hundred years;
...