(she) "so... how have you been?"
(i) "the evenings arent kinder
but the moon still flashes her grin."
(she) "you're seeing phantoms of her?"
(i) "i swear they're real-- it ain't just gin!"
(she) "of course not... heck, id write a letter
if that'd save your pills from chasing the bin."
(i) "but i swear i've never been better!"

(she) "so you'd rather live a beautiful lie
and wake up in the clutches of a lovely ghost?"
(i) "you call her that, but when i cry
my tears crawl to caress and coyly coast
her silhouette--"

(she) "i mean no tirade nor needless offence,
but i fear your mind is a marionette
and her hallowed mirage but a reckless goddess
of a puppeteer beneath your blanket..."

(i) "why cant you trust my mouth,
which has kissed hers
and ****** her name aloud
amidst moments of wonder?"
(she) "because my mouth and hers
have not shaken hands
and your mind still suffers--"
(i) "i don't think anyone understands..."

(i) "perhaps she hates the sight of you?"
(she) "perhaps the sight of her only
lies in your bedroom amidst déjà vu."
(i) "it's not right to barter my sanity--"

(she) "take your pills."
(i) "i don't need them!"
(she) "take your pills."
(i) "but i'm fine and well!"
(she) "take your pills."
(i) "but she's ******* real!"
(she) "let's be ******* real."

(she) "you're in denial.
you cant stand losing the person
who fit you all the while
because the outline of her reason--
her figure which has fit you
with edges that lined up
in a way too good to be true,
too good to be made up--
are a haunting projection
from your lonely little mind
of its fading photograph
of a long-lost love."

(i) "..."
(she) "take your pills."
(i) "okay..."
(she) "i'm sorry."


(i) "where'd you go?"

As we grow up,
we become less afraid
of being haunted
and more afraid
of being heart broken.
©

Mystery Meat

You'll find it sometimes
in what you eat.
What it is, you might ask?
It's Mystery Meat!
Smells kinda weird,
and looks just like ****.
I don't want a dollop.
No, not even a scoop.
I don't even want it in Mystery Soup.

They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And all round Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
Down there to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s County Yay!

Yull see ‘em rambling near Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.

Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.

Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all do hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.

So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.

Paul Butters

(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
© PB 2\5\2016.  Slightly Amended 14\4\2023.

I’m a chemical
substance
that’s been put
together
by a downward
spiral
of poor
genetics

Kiss lips, hips twist-

Fingers fumble and miss,



Fist of hair, drum snare,

The crowd blares,



Fabric thin, trapped within,

Electric current, skin on skin,



**** tongue, come undone,

How it feels to chew Five® Gum.