I have 34 promises of secrets unlocked
from that bloke who says video marketing rocks
in my inbox
I have fifteen plus ones and a whole bunch of pokes
I’m not sure what twerking is n’anyway
I don’t think it matters
I’ll make goals through to christmas and hold the fixed grin
I’ll handcuff my muse and invoke
the goddesses of editorial calendars
but then
surrender because there are matters of consequence
of Dangermouse
and Tim Minchin
on YouTube
I’ll fish out my dark side from the box sealed with tape
under the bag for life stiff with odd socks
who await transfiguration into puppets who
look like fraggles
who
are sad like us
because yeah, I have a dark side too
(if you want me to)
yeah I do
I’ll tell you your pain and I’ll sell you your struggle
you’ll cry and
yes
you might look like a fraggle
I’ll be your peace angel
I’ll mend all your undies
I’ll untangle the haywires and
stuff like that
but
even if I have a dark side too
(yes, I do)
and even if you do too
(yes, that makes us strangely compatible)
I might possibly,
outlandishly,
irredeemably,
foolishly,
gleefully,
impromptu-ishly
decide
that today,
my sweet internet-and-also-we-might-possibly-have-met-in-which-case-I’d-certainly-like-a-reprise-or-two
friend
I’m not going to show it to you
because
there are rainbows and ladybirds with yellow not red and snowflakes and trumpets and crumbs in my bed and
blimey
there are
even
especially
critically
memorably
wonderfully
crazily
unbelievably luckily
people like you
who do all that you do
even on days when you look like a fraggle
so
yahoo.
