Shelyest

At this age it would surely be better
(Rather than waking at 2 am holding the penis)
To be writing a Chinese poem
Of the T’ang period
About being a civil servant
Banished to some tedious monosyllabic province
And watching the leaves rustling
On the neglected threshold
Of a summerhouse, the paintwork peeling,
A pair of thin cranes breasting the featureless sky,
Trying to remember the days when Rachel would come round in the afternoons
On her bike and take her clothes off
While I was trying to get on with my novel
About Wittgenstein’s dentures.
And the poem itself could be a T’ang horse
...