A metaphor for life, doors.
From our earliest years we
open and shut them without
a thought, yet they symbolise
On the road, Jack.
Hit the road, Jack.
Follow his footsteps?
I didn't remove my poems in a fit
of pique as has been suggested.
It was time to cull and revise, cut
and polish, and give some a swift
A calming, professional voice will say:
'This'll relax you.' followed by a prick -
in the arm that is.
It's the precursor to surgical la la land
What fantasies will I imagine
in deep anaesthetic narcosis.
A trip to the moon on gossamer wings?
Or something I won't remember?
Inept, deceitful, tainted and rotten.
Exploitation to the nth degree.
An amalgam of hispanics, asians,
coloureds, and post-war eastern-bloc
you write so eloquently
if you were born in
'Line 'em up, ' the starter barks.
'We haven't got all day! '
As twenty of the Snowy's best
are gathered for the fray.