Rastar Craves Diversion

Rastar awakened into a blue funk.
Shrouded in delirium, sweating like a sow,
His innards, sloshed audibly
For Al Qaeda, the terrorist cat,
Or, for that matter, any other cat
No longer threatened, and there was peace
Throughout his microcosmic kingdom,
He was bored. So bored he dragged himself
To heaven’s edge and screamed a gut gripping message
Prefaced to those, ‘To Whom It May Concern,
I’m totally pissed off. It’s diversion I’m after!’
Now it happened to be the happy hour of saintly repose
And the virtuous residents in residence,
Who, torn from groovy dreams of heavenly liturgy
Were infuriated by blackbird’s intrusion.
St Peter, groped blindly beneath the bed
And, finding a vestal boat of shining transparency,
Hurled the celestial missile,
With its swishing wee green contents
To score a midriff hit on the tiresome bird.
That night a late reveller reported the rare sighting
Of a smouldering damp angel spiralling
A spectacular course towards mother earth.

Incandescent, Rastar crash landed to smoulder
In the microcosmic heaven of his kingdom.