It hardly matters to the man of letters
if you hear him,
he
wins anyway, ten to one
on the track today and
what way do you matter
anyway?

Twenty-one thousand four hundred and nine
and what a waste of my precious time counting them in
let us begin
but we never end
send me a Kelly,
machine gun
some jelly
and blow, but
we know
men and letters
much better than I
live to let die
and I ask you why we
do
I ask
but you
never answer me.

In this trophy room
groomed and dressed
wall mountings are best
although Tigger carpets
the floor,
I want more than
a glimpse,
the reality limps
away from me
I abscond
fragile into
my own fantasy,
the man of letters knows better
and says nothing.