If I were to sleep, it would be on an iron bed,bolted to the floor in a bomb-proof concrete roomwith twelve locks on the door.I wouldn't ask for a mattressor decorate. I wouldn't ask for beautiful.I'd let the philosophers in,but not into my bed.They'd arrive cradling their brass instruments.I might let them playbut only very softly and only ifthey didn't fight or sing.
If I were to sleep, there wouldn't be any windows.There would be a skylight,but in the middle of the floor.I'd press my face against the glassand stare down at other floors upon floors upon floors .ÀæI'd do a sleep dance right on top of the skylight.It would be a new game.It would involve amazing feats of sleep contortion.It would involve letters.
If I were to sleep, I would be spread-eagled across the bed,and even with the iron struts and screws cutting into my back,I would protect the metal frame.I would protect the springs.
