Raincoat with Four Sleeves

Raincoat with Four Sleeves (11th Dec 2008, 10.33am)

Cuff me, bind my vituperative hands
in coils of barb and twine, you swine!
Uncurse my words, the witch twitch
unsightly, for I am angered, nightly,
striving to perfect each twisted verse!

Incense the critics, feed the comments,
pour fertilizer on my weedy scribbles,
the twigs will fruit, the quids will come;
I do my best and yet there is still one
who beats me with my own youth.

I am ignorant and yet I yearn to feed,
drink fast, swallow jagged pills of truth
and knowledge, my oesophagus bleeds
in this determined quest; I don’t know
best; my chest is high, my arse still tight.

Help me, damselled in my desperate plight,
as I choke on my rhymes, reflections of
past rejection; without pain, I am nothing.
Prod me with your stings, for you win;
my youthful smile, hippo-wide, imagining.