Intoxcy8me (Toxy)

Poets Don't Sleep, they do research, with eyes closed, minds open wide, they tiptoe through synaptic creaks and groans, sifting through impulse and why why not? electricity, simplicity, alive, are we? asleep no never! Let those poets dream and snooze, blink and sort through millions of blasts of memories past for something worth writing about, no doubt, it will be deep sleep a poet's sleep- dream and wade, wander and glean and claim your poem, in the morning...