It had been a long journey Haze forgotten in time I was in a dull area Behind a tired warehouse Which bore the tracings of a storm As I walked towards the railway I found a spoiled box Of paperback books Which were totally identical Bullet Train Kotaro Isaka

I was following The peach moon As it slowly crossed The night sky You were swimming In the pale shadows Of your distant dreams

It was a short but humid night Which made sleep difficult You were sleeping naked On white cotton sheets Lost in your erotic dreams

Berry and I were on vacation In the South of France When we met Sir Lancelot She found him to be a gentle knight Before we returned to Paris Berry gave Lancelot a novel That she thought described him well

I travelled to Oxford Some years ago And developed An interest in flags

I work at a bookstall on platform seven It is a steady job that pays quite well My bookstall attracts philosophers Mainly because of the express trains That scream through the station at speed They often help me to write my poetry Between the hours of nine and five

Before I start Please welcome My new wheelchair I cannot imagine Life without it

I actually love my country I really do I despise those Who hate their country

My work as an academic Bought me a top To go with my jeans It was black and plain to the front But latticed at the back Resembling a venetian blind

I have always worn backless dresses As I am proud of my mothers scar This is often complemented on by those love me