I could go through walls and windows just to take a look
Other lives fizzing and jingling as I walk about in my old
Black coat
How many lives do you need? Regressed into states
Of Gilgamesh raiments, hallowed batskin
Trance dances
Hypnotized beyond measure; if I smell cucumbers
I think it’s Christmas in my head, your rooms
Your husbands
Are under my scrutiny, wallpaper is a fine web
An arterial network like the London Underground
I can enter
Yellow windows of cottage-rottage Thomas Kinkade
Or Merstham Estate, I’m wandering down Quality Street
With one good leg and some smudge
Hocusing and pocusing in my outsider way
Invisible and interfering, stirring the dinner stew
Adding just a bit too much pepper.
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