My poems are better read in the open air

So please do so without delay

Or you will be banned from reading them at all

I have returned from my college

On my brand new pink bicycle

Whilst I was there the title of Whitman’s

Leaves of Grass

Was explained to me

It seems that grass is the name given by publishers

To works of a minor value

Leaves are another name for the pages of a book

It is a pun which is pretty obvious

However I did not work that one out

This only goes to prove that I am a stupid fuck

But I suppose you knew that already

At present I an leafing through my reviews

They are all hostile

Many of my critics have said

That I should burn my poems

And join them on the pyre

The Daily Mail has gone even further

And suggests to me that suicide is painless

I have written back and have requested

That their critics should try it first

Amanda Palmer recently sent me a clip from her 2013 Roundhouse gig

In it she shared her thoughts about the Daily Mail

I would copy her but I cannot sing

And it is so fucking cold in December

I will finish now as I have little to add

Today is the 1st of December 2020

The year is nearly complete

I will be glad to see it pass

As the last year has not been kind to me

The roads have been rocky and I have suffered some injuries

But I am on the mend as sponges do not lose their shape

Do not worry about me as I am strong and have been rewired

And soon you will  be able to pick up my pamphlets once more

Hot from the sinful press

And share my electric dreams