It takes a prancing Dracula
at the dentist’s with his mother
having his wisdom teeth removed
to pay for a circus act
performed by an erstwhile
tax attorney with a bald patch
on his head and the determination
to cohabit with a female,
preferably his own species
in the least dull way possible,
on a rocking boat, in the middle
of a conversation with a fish
out on the beach, soaking some sun
to cure its scaly skin whilst
love escapes the clutches of
justice and power in an effort
to corrupt all mankind with
its silliness, making a case
for a vending machine
bought off chor bazaar
to deliver on the promises
of a childhood tale unfolding
on the streets of Baghdad
with a Sultan misled by
an evil minister and a thief
who is still searching for a
magic lamp to remedy his
hungry nights fighting off
the gutter rats and princesses
who dream of a life
outside the boundaries of
her Sultan’s imagination
It takes three of these
and a bag of chips
for a good night’s sleep.
A heathen poet 