I've Just Begun

My bed is a sheep dip
For the rams of South London,
With thier creaking cocks and practiced wit;
They leave on thier socks.
But I want much more.
So a sparkling idea
Glistens in my head
Of shagging,
And love,
And Ikea.
So I won't have to feel
The shadow on my bed,
Who's not even here.
But dreaming of someone he met before.
Somebody he took his socks off for

Last night I re-read my diary. I bought it before Christmas, and it now has two entries. Its rustic and leather and was falling apart when I bought it. I thought pulling it out of my bag and angsting into it would be quite an authentic thing to do. I would write poetry and muse, and if anybody ever read it they would be impressed with my intellect. The two entries I wrote were in fact written for other people to read. That's not authentic at all so I might use it as a 'to do' list book. I use those, and they are probably more telling than a diary when you think about it. I'd hide my 'to do' list.