“You can’t do Jeffrey Dahmer” says the voice
Inside my head that censors what I say
“A gag about a cannibal?” “My choice”
I counter then begin to tap away.
Til inspiration blinds me as It glints
Into a scene in Woody Allen’s head
That features several Mini-Pops With squints
Immobilised while gaffer-taped to bed
And still the voices say to even speak
Of what your psyche kicks out is a crime
That Princess Margaret face down in the beak
Is – poss – a tale to tell some other time…
You throw away the words you’ve written: Waste!
A shame that we’re all slaves, these days, to “taste”.