Do you ever have those nightmares
Which though horrid are compelling
Enough to book a postchaise
Foam-flecked worn-down attempt?
I have chartered that compartment
For a restive shop-soiled sleep
Because a detail usually needs firming up.
Let me stop you there, my darling,
Let us step that jig again,
Why exactly are we lost for good?
What was the nature of...ah, well,
This was one of the silent movies.
I want to know my wreaking hands
Have full possession of the brute
Aggression, gone unspent by day.
Did I really smash the fat old liar's
Spectacles again?
It's not the rollercoaster stab
Which I've never invited. No:
It's about truth in falsehood, checks,
Corroborations, or exactitude,
A veering hope of pardon or vision.
I want, often, a re-run with sub-titles.
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