Sleep Phil-Fill Your Day With Sheep

Sleep Phil, across the room at Ten A.M.
Your head rocking back in quiet intervals,
Hands folded, keeping your energy within.
Do you dream as you nod back and forth?
Narcaleptic, a big word, big as sunshine!

Sunshines the thing that escapes you Phil,
Out the window, clouds mimic your thoughts-
Big fluffy white sheep, bounding over fences.
Long fences, strong upright poles in-between
Wood slats crumble under their cloven hooves.

Oh Phil, you transcend this mere class, Buddha-like!
If only we could go with you Phil, to gentile dreamland.
How do you keep your balance, after all, your asleep?
Sleep, sleeep, sluhhheeppa, shhhh, Huh, What, Who!
Phil, it’s just class Phil, don’t worry, because you're ok.

You lean back, baring your adams apple for all to see,
And we look furitivly, then hate ourselves for doing so!
Somehow it’s like an invasion into your deepest self,
That self that you love so much, you visit it more often,
More often then even the Great Tree Sloth of Borneo.

Dont mind the drone going on around you Phil-San,
Just push it out the hive, while grateful wings fan you,
Cooling your body, cooling your thoughts, for royal jelly!
Jam your toast, butter your bread, breakfast is your mind!

Who indeed could claim to know their eyelids better?
Not i, but you Phil, you are a different breed, incarnate!
Rare like fine brandy, or a Cottonwood tree on a blue mnt.
Do sparks from sheeps hooves cast pictures on your lids?
Phil knows, he’s not telling, just murmuring softly to himself.