Take a

Take a

Walk to the crossroads

Where the lamplight

Fades

Dig a hole

Big enough to fall into.

The whole world

Will disappear

It is an image of convenience

Sand castles

Tumble into the

Dark side

Of my imagination.

Nothing good will come

Of wish lists

Buried in a wooden box.

Chicken bones

Are a confabulation

Of old wives' tales,

Fireside stories are

Full of archetypes

With little

To commend them.

Off with their heads

For scaring little children.

Wetting the bed

Is not a choice

Or a pastime

Enuresis is a beast.

The old crone

Has the power

To take the pain away

As the cock crows,

There are no ghosts

Hiding in the pea soup.

The fear of god

Is a heavy-hand

To beat with a stick

Read the room

It will tell you just as much

As a picture card.

Leave the superstition

In a box

Buried

Beneath

The rock

At number three,

When the moon is full

Of blood

And falsehood.

Wake up

In a winding sheet

Of fine white lies

Startled by starlings

On the rise

And thank goodness

For double glazing