Nudge Me Awake Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Nudge me awake,
when a tide of sleep
swoops down
my planted bed side,

wings of an eagle
piloting an albatross's
wingspan over
expanding wooden rails.

The flying blanket
of a wind shear
rides a gliding mattress
on a splitting bed.

Budge me down
the alley, head shrinking
my body's rock face

and chained wagons
of my heavy waist slipping off
hanging air-kicking legs,

as the vehicle of sleep
flips over, but tightens me
in its rubbing seat.

(ii)

The big long-necked
bird on the spark plugs
of a wind's engine
of sleep on a broken bed

carries me on shoulders
to the land, where folks
take over batons
for a race to run, sprinting

over hilly and flat-levelled
tracks between cloudy
sheets brushing me

eyes closed and bolted,
pad locks hanging
down cheeks to seal
off light and wave blight.

(III)

Rattling rocks lengthening
billows of pillows
close in like collapsing
canyon walls, lumps

of gravel and stone
hanging over sleepy eyes
with thick hands

pressing me back
into a river-lengthened sleep,

squeezing me tightly into
my blind conscience snoring

with the fire that burns
and flattens me out
like dough in a warm oven
of sleep ringing

with the message "a man
is gasping for breath
and you're just slipping by
to the desert of you".