Bad Night? No new dimension Impersonators nowhere to be found But what is to be expected? Nothing to smash But should you be in the mood There will be plenty of glass there And typhoons of thought Each one could envelop Something one degree greater than itself Until there is nothing left to say Nothing to see here Cross the road carefully Abstract things Still threaten on the horizon Tasks can be apportioned But the layers of your privilege will rot away And so expose the pain that we feel At being given tasks to do We dare you to refuse Just as we will When given anything resembling an opportunity Heated loser laughing Neglected winners pissing Vomiting prawns down their vests These are the outcomes Of my thought-marathon Contestants: I'm sorry! I tried not to beleaguer you But I did it all the same Small lists recede Left well behind Dotted expeditions Multiplying excavations So many things to write So many things not to write And nothing in-between When they are looming straight up at you When springs are curling deftly beneath you It could all go wrong Do not limit your wishes Men need their tonic You have never been so lucky