From Walking Down the Street in the Spirit Place © 2006 A. Jones Sonnet I think one cannot have too many pillows. After a day of scraping up against Life’s ragged edges; catching on the fence One’s clothes; atoning for such peccadillos As irk both pedagogues and peers -- one ought, While risking taunts from nescient unbelievers, And jeers of, “Pillowhenge!” from sniggering divas, Conceive a way to bring these trials to naught. There’s no more blissful remedy I know Than cruising, schooner-like, toward the bed And, mast and sails descending round one’s head, To list, and sink, and let the vessel go. Thus wreck’d, there’s treasure in the deep, some tell us; Those who poke fun are sleep-deprived and jealous.