the real World hovers (I could say
‘Hoovers’ – it is the same thing,)
somewhere between masturbatory
fantasies and conviction someone
unknown will pay a massive sum
gratuitously into my bank account
there is no way pleasures gained
will be made transliterable except
in my unaccompanied imagination
it is an ethic of disunity, a feeling
dislocated from the Ying and Yang
which ordinarily makes me sane
I’m nutty as a fruit cake, almost
as tasty if you excuse the cultural
use of flavour adjuncts to a wicked
mix of covert and emotional bribery
so pay me the money, do it now or
be damned to fictional anonymity
© 16 April 2010, I. D. Carswell
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