To walk from here to past Land's End;
And then, to turn toward home again;
To think my thoughts, just as I please,
The kind that come with careless ease;

To blend them up, like half-made dreams
Blended with cheap vanilla cream,
Two nightmare shades, a tear, a joke,
A squirt of concentrate of Coke;

Sprinkle with apathy refined,
And insight from a sightless mind,
Stir until rattled, chill 'til dull
And harder on hands than taffy pull.

Then to shove all this down your throat
With all the grace of a three-legged stoat
This is my most insidious scheme!
This is my hope, my deepest dream.

And should you hope my hand to stay,
I'm going to publish, anyway.

Myra Pizallim Pourtant
Ranting Incantations and Mumbles
World Ineptitude and Impotency Council Publication (WIICP)
New York, NY, 2001