I want to run away & join the circus
To be done with this life at sea
To kiss the ground she walks on
Solid foundations forever under me
Scribbling love notes to my lady
Creating a new world of literary lust
A positive existence springing forth
My happiness nestled within her bust
Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis
A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea
Transcendental visitations
From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality
Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion
Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought
But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities
Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought
We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries
Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most
We maunder through our raging debates
Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts
Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve
Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query
Descending by the light of our candelabra
If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary
Walking quietly along the dusty rows
I’ve forgotten dreams, but that’s how it goes
Bought the leather bound tome for 35 quid
Trying to uncover God, but she remains hid
Secret to life on the page, but that’s all anyone knows
Captain Q 