swinglow

Christmas Day not much peace and goodwill though. I ate plenty and then felt guilty about the hungry, so I drank plenty too.

Isn't Christmas Day the most boring day of the year? Nowhere to go, nothing to do and the same old Christmas crap on the TV.

But I wrote a poem:

Winter Afternoon

A man lies sleeping on the bed,
on a shelf by the window
a cat also sleeps.

Both made indolent
by the cold white world
beyond the window.
Both dream.

The cat dreams, by the nature of cat,
are inscrutable.
The mans dreams are revealed
by his swelling cock.

Outside, the wind
lifts the snow and shuffles it.


Hope you like it, well anybody that troubles to look.