The Crimplene conspiracy

The things that are sewn into dreams,
if you
show me your seamstress who must
be a wonderful person
I’ll show you mine,

A euphemism like the catechism must
be well rehearsed.

It’s just turned three and the absence of
noise is getting to me,
this
silence in the lead up to the breaking of day
breaks as the kettles whistles
(at least something’s cheery)

Dreams of Dali, Ghandi, Raleigh
Intercut with the Woodentops and
Andy Pandy
each dreams fades to realign with
one more dream from another time

must be modern art or am I being pirated?
Shanghaied, hog tied, lied to
to get through
the eye of the needle.

Wednesday may be a good idea
when you’re high
but the reality is..
..and then the filters kick in
which allows me to begin
again.

it’s a perpetual rewind of seek and
ye shall find
blind man in the buff taking hot tea
with
Billy goat gruff,
but
I’m tough and can take it
the dreams just make it
seem unlikely.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.