yes – yes – I’m swamped with stress
a bad blogger in a waterlogged mess
you’d have to say I’m drifting at best
Ophelia in the drink in her wedding dress

I just can’t make the right words stick
I’m falling down on the job, calling in sick
I’m Peter Piper without his pick
a deadbeat poet sharpening his dick

it’s like I can see something weird nearing
and I can’t believe what I’m hearing
the concert crowd is actually cheering
as the blind conductor’s disappearing

you’d think I’d be bored of all the hurting
the witless schtick, the tragic rehearsing
the carry on shithead, carry on nursing
caution – dreadful old diva reversing

I don’t know how to work the game
dig the foundations again & again
cut my losses, bury my name
my brown eyes wide and my beard aflame

but d’you hear that? is it thunder?
or a thousand poems sliding under?
quick – weigh my eyes with coins of silver
kiss me once, set me on the river