Sonnet #4

Whatever I may say
Promise me you know it isn't true
Whatever it was I did
It wasn't done meant from me to you.
You and I are old enough
Sometimes the madness comes alive
It's rare I really know myself
And rarer still I'm listenin' right.
If it seems unlike me
Probably it is
And if I ought to understand
Probably I would.
Somedays I ain't wearing my glasses
Sometimes I write whatever ryhmes.

Johnny Torpedo

Johnny stayed away from hoors
His lady was his pride and joy.
But always, on his Russian tours,
He wanted sex gazoy.

Tiberius they called him
Though it was not his name.
He sweated lots, when in the gym,
Or tugging on his chain.

They said he played bazookey
They said he fiddled too -
The music, made me pukey.
His fans all smelled of poo.

He married K*rnage K*rren
He was her paramour.
Just like Yuri Gagarin
She made his rocket soar.

Slice of Rhubard Tart with Custard

Oh man, I didn't think I was going to get custard poured over me. I was hoping for cream or something, anything other than being eaten plain. But custard? Never in my wildest dreams, not even when I was still part of the tart and didn't have a defined identity of my own. Every rhubarb wants to be in a tart. Every wheat thingy wants to be milled and made into something more exciting than white bread. Every ... well ok every egg probably hopes to become a chicken. But anyway, I can honestly say I have never been so happy to be a piece of rhubarb tart. With custard.

Concession to Reality #4

You fall in love with the personality you have, not the one you wish you had.

The Office Christmas Special

I’d rather not say it,
You’re all such nice people,
But I’d rather be naked,
Impaled on a steeple,
Than wait any longer,
Perfecting escape routes,
And bearing ill-will t’ward
The men in the grey suits.

A4, A4, it’s no great surprise.
There’s nothing worth reading
They print in your size.

All you nice people,
Good men and women,
It’s not quite the worst job,
All things consid’rin’,
But I can’t see the wide world,
In all of its promise,
‘f I keep winding up
Back in this fxcking office.

A4, A4, it’s no great surprise.
There’s nothing worth reading
They print in your size.

I wish someone would just
Make it all go away.
But the clock says I’m not
Even done for today.