Oil My Rusty Sanity

Thwarted again, hoping to be
entertained – challenged by a
brave and dauntless poet free
of earthly gravity. Greeted

instead by restrained lines
formed in the manner of a
drawing-room-subsumed-and-
damn-boring Victorian’s idol

with lamp-lit, hand-writ, limp-
wristed scribbling birthed scripts
agonising anal retentiveness –
hosting chronic constipation.

You need a good shit I think in
utter frustration, try again; lift
your thoughts beyond the hem
line, the nape of the knee – find a

rhyme for parody. Go, take the
piss for the sake of humanity;
ease levity’s springs – and while
you’re at it oil my rusty sanity.
© 30 May 2007, I.D. Carswell