by Marty




Walking asleep in the cool morning breeze.

Being awakened by the soft sweet smell

of the rain as it fell in my eyes.

And listening to the sun as it rose in the skies...


...I jumped onto a three-wheeled bus

which some unskilled painter

had painted vivid green.


Giving the conductor my fivepence-halfpenny,

I asked him:


"Does this taxi go to Truth?"


Handing me a ticket

he replied:


"All trains go to Truth eventually."


But I did not believe him.

For the sign on the tram read:


"Marble Arch"



as the plane rose into the air,

I leaned back in my seat,

watched the harbour lights

slip slowly below the horizon,

and drifted gently back to sleep...


...where I dreamed of scrap-yards.