Round goes the slithering wheel

Round goes the slithering wheel

of my new Ferrari

round and round it goes

but it is all imaginary;

For I ain’t that rich

but neither am I poor

such flux is a witch

desires without a cure;

Some day I say

and lull myself asleep

alas there’s no way

for my dreams are too steep;

for dreams from the assembly line of the dream factory

the dreamers never taste victory.

I am not a poet

I am not a poet, not yet quite,

I hunger for fame, the loud acclaim,

I am all alone be it day or night,

not pleased with my scribblings lame;

I am the laziest boring person ever

giving nothing to this world

yet wanting all deeming myself too clever,

I wander never able to fit any mould;

who decides what is wheat and what is chaff,

what sweet nectar and what tar,

the sun shines the other side and tonight is tough,

yet for me and my brethren dawn is not far;

I’ve opened my doors as days come and nights pass

my words yearning for sweet company to trespass.