I know a man who sleeps so much

I know a man who sleeps so deep
Each morning is a Jules Verne

Where tentacles squeeze and suck around his will
At every league he seeks to rise


For even one eye to half open
Is a journey fit for Ovid’s prose

Every full-eyed awakening
A campaign to puzzle Sun Tzu

Until the sun reaches far enough to find him

A stunned collapsed Ulysses
Sipping coffee half upright
On a battlefield of pillows.

About subincontinentia

writer and eternal optimist
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