12-01-2010, 06:28 PM
How to count Sheep
Spare yourself from distractions
Tear the television’s electric IV
From its socket-
Coil and toss it
Into the shoe box
Sitting in your closet
While you’re at it,
Do away with that phone, too.
We wouldn’t want someone calling you,
Because that fifteen minute guitar solo
From “freebird” isn’t the most meditive music.
If you’ve eliminated every annoyance
Sink into your living room sofa .
Now, look at the back of your eyelids
You should see a pitch-black pasture
So dark, it appears as if
The moon and stars have been stolen
Leaving only a featureless face.
But don’t panic, the sun isn’t bashful here
Ask him, and he will come
Peeking above the barn
Like a floating bulb
Illuminating grass,
Tangled wire,
The farmhills dotted with cows
Lost in their grazing.
You can get the stars back, too.
Thousands, or a few
Of white pinholes poked through the sky
You might prefer this. It’s night,
So the cows are all locked away.
If they don’t particularly moove you.
You can see the fence, Yes?
(If not, skip this verse)
It’s probably day-
Soon, the hoofed balls of white wool
Will come pouring from the barn
And sail, one by one, over the pickets
Landing safely outside of your vision
To graze, as weariness pulls its dark curtain
Over your consciousness.
If it’s night, you’re reading this-
The sheep might not be confident
Hopping a fence they can’t see
So they will likely turn toward the moon
And lift their brittle legs, leaping
Over the glowing opal set in the sky-
Growing smaller and smaller
As they drift into the dark-
Follow them out-
Until the pasture comes apart.
Spare yourself from distractions
Tear the television’s electric IV
From its socket-
Coil and toss it
Into the shoe box
Sitting in your closet
While you’re at it,
Do away with that phone, too.
We wouldn’t want someone calling you,
Because that fifteen minute guitar solo
From “freebird” isn’t the most meditive music.
If you’ve eliminated every annoyance
Sink into your living room sofa .
Now, look at the back of your eyelids
You should see a pitch-black pasture
So dark, it appears as if
The moon and stars have been stolen
Leaving only a featureless face.
But don’t panic, the sun isn’t bashful here
Ask him, and he will come
Peeking above the barn
Like a floating bulb
Illuminating grass,
Tangled wire,
The farmhills dotted with cows
Lost in their grazing.
You can get the stars back, too.
Thousands, or a few
Of white pinholes poked through the sky
You might prefer this. It’s night,
So the cows are all locked away.
If they don’t particularly moove you.
You can see the fence, Yes?
(If not, skip this verse)
It’s probably day-
Soon, the hoofed balls of white wool
Will come pouring from the barn
And sail, one by one, over the pickets
Landing safely outside of your vision
To graze, as weariness pulls its dark curtain
Over your consciousness.
If it’s night, you’re reading this-
The sheep might not be confident
Hopping a fence they can’t see
So they will likely turn toward the moon
And lift their brittle legs, leaping
Over the glowing opal set in the sky-
Growing smaller and smaller
As they drift into the dark-
Follow them out-
Until the pasture comes apart.