Your Gerbils, My Hotelier
Before I sensed this vacuum
I knew, as if unbidden,
That the infested back-room
Where all the suns are hidden
Might never catch alight
Might never glow unending
Then, when the truth was dawning
I felt, as if awoken,
Each cobweb's grimy yawning
But what could this betoken?
Though all the world were bright,
Though all the suns were blending
What suture-cracking club
I'd joined, as if anointed
With some narcotic rub
As well I'm double-jointed
I feared, as well one might
The message I was sending
Between all voids, impassive
I spun, as if unfettered
Despite mine anchor, massive
My spin could not be bettered
Both to the left and to the right
I saw that space was bending
A stitch in time of famine
To sow the fields with hunger
Which epicures examine
In search of costermonger
Or cutest catamite
Whose litter needed tending
Will save the nineteen Muses
I know, don't ask the reason
But your apathy refuses
To sell me salt in season
Or to cure my lack of sight
Or save my soul from rending
| Contributors: | Roland, TG, The Agent Apsley, P. |
| Poem finished: | 29th August 1997. |