A batch of yesterday's left-over dreams
Spilled in to today's wakefulness. It seems
Some half-baked poems masquerading as the real thing
Sought to communicate their worth to my
Fingertips. This poses problems to my mind
Which finds greater difficulties dealing with the
Daily business of living.The pain in many parts
Of a misused body, a huge over-lapping jelly-belly
An over-worked heart trying to compete with excess weight
In an arse in the squat position before the telly nightly.
Added to all this, there are the more dangerous dreams
Dreamt up in wakefulness. the desire for gold and beautiful
Woman all covered up in an imaginary cloak
Of erotic pleasure. Then there's hemorrhoids, a lazy colon
Rheumatoid arthritis, and the fact I need two new knees
With many other mysterious ailments and the hellish
Struggle to get to the bathroom and back unaided.
This was supposed to be a moving,beautifully written,
Daring,provocative piece of prose culled from a batch
Of loose dreams still wandering daily consciousness
Trying to catch ready-made poems . Instead. its the apopletic
Meanderings of some scumbag inside,flat broke, always
Reading the New Testament praying for the conversion of Helen Clark
The Prime-Minister of New Zealand, and the closure of
A Presbyterian Church called Greyfriars,a grim-faced edifice that
Fronts a main road here and a Church librarian who suffocates
The very essence her Jesus Christ God came to preach..
Meanwhile,its a lovely day here except for effluent over-flowing
The lush green of the garden, and the unbearable stench coming
From the kitchen of my Asain wife cooking up some revolting
Traditional chinese dish. I now must put on my trousers and lie down.
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