Recumbent Decumbency

This is not sleep but the appearance of sleep, sleepless sleeplessness. This damn Skinnerian box will be the end of me, my head full of splinters, wood tics and wormy worms. Not what you’d call recumbent decumbency, not by a long stretch, no indeed; a head-full of notions and grammatical patricide, an Oedipal stick in the eye, I’d say, so I would.