The orchestra was climbing the walls.
I put on my PSYCHO WARD costume and harangued
And exhumed the pensioners chomping at the bit
Chafing in my XS PSYCHO WARD costume.
The pensioners were screaming like war –
I beat them for their small change, showering them
With blows and kisses,
Hooks to the temple, digs to the belly and a roundhouse right
straight in the money-bag!
Nite- nite sweet prince.

I tipped the contents of the ashtray on the floor
(the pig was called Mick)
And filled it with marbles.
He said: ‘gee, it’s a helluva lot nicer to be fulla
MARBLES than fulla ASH!
I grinned. I dribbled.
I stopped my train set
mid-route. I uprooted the wiring.
Took all the scrap-metal – the heirlooms,
The dresser, the kids’ bikes.
Dug a hole in the garden, shat in it,
Put the kids bikes in there.
But the handlebars kept coming back to me in the dream.

A bald-headed little girl approached wearing a turban.
“Did I ever tell you about the Ding-Dong railway?”
I grinned. I dripped.
Tipped the rice pudding in the bin.

End of an era.

Granny pulled the lever and my descent commenced.
I was branded. A charlatan. A lion in a bear-costume.
Granny yanked the chain and I came hurtling back into place
At speeds exceeding eight-million.

Not as wet and lazy as my wife’s mouth,
It hangs open like a subaqueous forest fire that stinks.
She has a horsemeat cunt, and when she went into labour
I was a wind tunnel.

One day we can achieve
I dream of mass-mobility
Widespread conveyance
Convenience all around.
Let’s hit the clubs.