at home on the farm
with my laughing-gas on a sun-burnt trampoline,
no paupers here
only big cats with their gastric bands
singing songs of pitted prunes
while the sand dunes blow their bubbles to the sea.
there is fury on the cotton buds
with a soldiers eye on a fish hook staring down.
there is water in my soup
as clear as day in an electric rocking chair.
she is here again
a lady dressed in white.
she parts my hair and a thousand seas escape
through the iron bars that block a summers view.
it is feeding time.
an alphabet of rainbow pills
to cure my ill\'s
to cure my ham
to scramble both my eggs with a crucifix.
something cold is in the air.
it is in her voice
tempting me to run amok
with the blisters and the corns in a summer frock.
but my nose is blocked
I cannot sneeze
it is only when I spark
I dare to dream.
you plug me in three times a day.
A B C.
you left a menu on my knee.