Digression

Diabolical thoughts hit the back of skull
knocking the wind out of the electric connections
and briefly murdering.
Swimming children don't roll alone
without assistance
and there are signs telling us where to jump,
see, street: birds encircle the morally unwell, shriek of pains
beyond recovery
and don't fulfil promises written in scratched ink claws.
You can buy a lucky rabbit's foot within two miles of here;
tablets, stone and sugar coated,
stomach linings for the mentally ill,
coat hangers tangled inside washing machines
found to be redundant,
are taken back with due respect and reported simply,
'inadequate'
not broken, like the hobby horse in his eye-
swirling, gracing us with ugly eyes and stretched teeth,
morphing from grin to grimace leaping from pupil to lens
to terrorised ocean.
Fishes are blue and laugh.
Golf buggies strewn and abandoned form shoals, bobbing up,
playing electric guitar.
What happens if you throw a toaster in the sea?
Sirens go off and on
the chest of drawers screeches to a halt
avoiding narrowly
resentment:
for it contains mercy of the purplest hue.
Entirely acceptable, and to be served
with artichoke.
Lovers watch their only alarm clocks being bleached
and time stretches his arm around Mrs. S. and whispers
'I'd say polenta, wouldn't you?'
Who can know what Mrs. S. replied?
Her flippers play a final viola farewell
and melt into a bakery.