The rhythm of a dream

If asked one summers evening

One more time I may well scream

In one short and fleeting moment

Catch the rhythm of a dream

Or reach out on winter’s nightfall

With the task clearly avowed

As the left hand extends skywards

Touch the essence of a cloud

Or a normal Sunday dinner

Of a standard sort of life

Try to understand the nuance

Of a sentence from my wife

Some things are never easy

And some will never be

Concentration and some practise

I’ve been told may hold the key

I would sooner bathe in acid

Pitch my pubes against the louse

Than unravel hidden meanings

In the sentence of my spouse