Twas in a dream
The Scholar strode,
The Scholar strode with me,
We walked o’er shale
Through wind and hail
Beside the tumbling sea
Twas in a dream
Through squall and gale
Beside the tumbling sea

Beneath our feet, a brittle hoard,
A trove of Neptune’s bric-a-brac
By cliffs where Satan walks abroad
A-riding sinners pick-a-back

And in that dream, we sat a spell
Beyond the bitter waves
‘Come, learned sir,’ said I, ‘and tell
Me how a sage behaves.’
Said I, ‘O Scholar, kindly dwell
On how a sage behaves.’

The Scholar’s withered fingers curled
His weathered countenance grew grim
As if our sick and sorry world
Had piled its every ounce on him

He gripped his stick and fished a
Prophylactic from a foggy pool
Then with a frown, he set it down,
Atop a flyblown doggy stool

A sheath spread in the middle
Of a moist and greenish turd
Said I: ‘Is this a riddle?’
But he did not speak a word
A condom in some dog mess
Yet he did not speak a word

I sat upon the rocks of blue
That lined the frigid shore
And gazed upon the Scholar’s poo
For half an hour or more

What secret did this poo contain?
What meaning lay within?
Until, at last, I cried aghast:
‘Enough, sir! I give in!
What secret does this turd hold fast?
Enough, sir! I give in!’

A blankness cloaked the visage
Of this sage of ancient lore
A tiny lump of spinach
Clinging damply to his jaw

‘Come, man of tomes,’ said I again,
‘How should a sage conduct himself?’
He grasped his cane, then – in clear pain –
He stooped, and gravely fucked himself

And as I watched the man engage
In urgent auto-sodomy
I mused that much about this sage
Seemed frankly, rather odd to me

His feet jutting contrariwise
His fixed and crooked grin
The slight opaque cast to his eyes
The dribble on his chin
The funny smell, the open flies,
And dribble on his chin

Said I: ‘Uh… this might sound like…
Like a stupid qu…
You are the wise Scholar of…
Ancient lore, aren’t you?’

He shook his fat, ungainly head
Bisected by a scar
Then opening his mouth to speak,
The Scholar uttered: ‘Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.’

I left him then
Upon the shore
The waves did crash and hiss
And as I strode
My heart became
A howling, black abyss
I woke at once, at home, alone,
My bed bemired in piss