I visit you in dreams,
and my visit is always unexpected.
I’m always excited and more
than a little apprehensive.

In dream variations, your reactions shuffle
like poker cards - you’re surprised and pleased,
or wary, or even politely disappointed.

Dreams can be a harsh mirror and as in real life,
my emotions are poorly protected.

Brushstrokes of truth hide behind the
tricksy falsehoods of dream-scapes. After all,
I’m an unworthy suitor in practically every way.

In the real world, I’m sure early, favorable
impressions would fade to inevitable boredom.
I have that effect on adults - I’ve seen it
- a quick nod my way and I become invisible.

I should be a bank robber - “What did the
robber look like?” the police would ask.
“Well... the teller would say,” fading off to vagueness.

I could stand right there looking at my phone.

“Did YOU see anything?” The cop would ask me.
“I was playing candy crush...” I’d begin,
but the cop would walk distractedly away.

By the time they got the video evidence, I’d be long gone.

Look lady, do I look bovver'd it's botched?
You wanted bespoke and that’s just what you got.  
I alreddy told ya, I’m chock-a-block with jobs,
so this the best of a very bad job.

Now, fair enough, it might look bog standard,
but you must remember, it was already cack-‘anded,
so I'd thank you for shutting your gob
with all your talk of you bein' robbed.  

Look, your ladyship, you might well be miffed,
but I’m sure you can make do with a little skew-wiffed,
so ‘and over the readies and make it swift -
I’ll walk away and we’ll call it quits.  

You know me and my rep round this manor,
if you don’t cough up I know a right tasty geezer
who will breeze over ‘ere and wrap each of his fingers
round a whole lot more than your French wind-ders.

- That’s a lot better, you’ve got a nice gaff
and I’m sure neither of us want all of the faff
that goes with ‘ard feelings and still ‘arder stares
through broken front wind-ders and costly repairs.

You know what I mean?

There is a fresh hole
on the threshold
of our property,
a perfectly
proper spot
where they
buried me.

Safe distance
from the old quarry,
so my corpse
doesn’t have to worry
about being
disfigured
by the bigger
mess.

What a figure
I make,
flaccid
and undressed
before death.

Nothing there that
would impress
strangers,
other then
the danger
of smelling
my rotting flesh.

So, I am safely stowed
in a small hole
in the property
that I owned
while my killers
ransack my home
in the middle of the night.

Someone
has robbed me yesterday,
has stolen my dream
of living in a world
where nothing is fake.

And I can see him,
he is everywhere,
all over the papers,
on the Internet.

I recognize
his innocent face.