sleepless He said he'd plucked an Ookpik
Feathers down to flesh
I didn't trust a word of it
The words just didn't mesh.

He said he'd plucked an Ookpik
And found no heart beneath
I didn't trust a word of it
Just lies beyond belief

He said he'd plucked an Ookpik
Ripped it all to bone
I didn't trust a word of it
I took my worries home

But when I plucked an Ookpik
Only feathers did I find
I had to see what lay in it
I knew I had been blind

No skin
No heart
No body
And nothing more
sleepless I've suddenly realised that the above was not one of my better efforts, but to explain . . . it's just that Ookpiks have been a lot on my mind recently. I think that particular worry may have receded now, and this chapter of life can be filed away. Please feel free to add your Ookpik thoughts and ideas, though. Even if nobody else is intrigued, I will be. 000823
Q All current blatherers were and are deeply intrigued. You know they all read everything that anyone blathes. Several e-mailed me and inquired "ookpik? Are they sleepless?"

I said they probably are but not THE sleepless and sent them to the website of course, http://www.mmiusa.com/ookpik/index.html
which I searched for only because you did blathe on the word. Thank you!

Your poem is actually fantastic, and I do not mean in the sense of outrageously strange, given what ookpiks appear to be or might be imagined to be or be made to be.

So please do not lose any sleep over it.
cam http://imagehost.auctionwatch.com/bin/imageserver.x/000c627a/crissy134555/10k.jpg 000824
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