The many ways to conquer it.
We were in a classroom set with posters of Mr Men and flowers.
Group meditation was led by an unknown face.
She talked with a smile and delivered her lines with
Like an impassioned Italian.
I sat at the back of a group of young people,
Happy that their backs where my view.
She then suggested masturbation would
Set our minds at ease.
I don’t recall the Buddhist monk opening his guided meditation the same way.
She went on, grin broad and unnerving,
To request we video our “special moment”.
It was my queue to leave that particular dream…
I’m standing on a pier. The sun is gently tickling the playful sea and
Gulls march the beach, like beady-eyed coppers.
One waves a wing in my direction.
I don’t hesitate to offer a return of my own.
I’m here for a low-backed, two-seater couch.
I knew this then, but don’t know the why now.
It’s purple. A child’s playroom purple and cheaply manufactured with fabric covered foam arms and back. I wouldn’t normally want it. But I do there, and then.
I suppose it’s because it’s stuffed with crisp twenties.
In that world I’m aware that it’s stolen money: criminal money.
I pick up the couch with the intention to
Take it to the Gypsy fortune teller.
I know that she will find a use for it.
I’m on a country road,
Berry shrubs line the verge on both sides.
I look forward and see a line of young adults laughing and swearing.
I look back and see a similar queue.
I don’t wish to be there.
One young man with wiry brown curls for hair turns and offers me a macaroon.
I refuse and calmly pull off his arm…
I awake to the sound of sirens…
Time to analyse…