Rastar considers dreaming
To be an ephemeral art form.
But waking or not, his dreams that night
Spun a seal of dislodgement
From the grip of liquiescent vapours,
And he was unable to escape
The echoes of subconscious mutterings,
‘Lords Ladies and gentlemen.
It is without great pleasure I give you
The obsessive obesity of your dreams,
A billowing prospectus of flesh- projecting
Colossal pretentiousness. A time bomb
Set to nightmare the centre of creation,
A revolving stage frozen with impotent sperm!
Listen and hear the clanking and wanking
As it wearily turns but goes nowhere.
It offers stark realities,
‘Take heed. Take heed! For you will need
To shelter, swelter and cower
Within the shadows of your waking hour’
Rastar, yawned, farted, kicked open the back door
And searched the ice box for fatty victuals.
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