Maybe

Maybe it may be true
That may with a capital M
Changes its verbal nature
Into a spring collection
Of days delimiting the edges
Of a Gemini's month May

Maybe it may be true
That simple language
Is easier to process
By your cognitive endeavour
Than metaphorical maze
Of rose thorns
and hedges as tall as three metres
not trimmed since the Elizabethan age
In which you will probably go astray
With Guard Aces
With Suit-wearing rabbits
and the Queen's modest shrieks
With a scarlet heart on her pale cheek
Off with their head!
And you will possibly miss
your mummy's evening preparation of
moist beetroot cake with lemon curd
and a layer of edible yellow paper
As sallow as your complexion.

Maybe it may be true
That you were born into a wrong body
Or a wrong body has grown into you
Your spirit does not reflect your features
And your features do not do justice to your philosophical roaming
among tents of opinions
put up as you go...

Maybe it may be true
That sitting in the pub
Where sobriety like your virginity
Fades away
Evaporates from your pint
Till you catch the death of
One more hangover but
No more beating off

Maybe it may be true
That eavesdropping...
- On bar stools passengers
- Accompanying you on your party-time travels
- Whose mouths perpetually utter the script
- Of the latest heroin and booze trips
- Of flying outside their physicality
... Fills in your gaps of friendship
Comradeship
Kinship
And other ships
Floating on an ocean
Of ribbing
Which I boldly get and take
Every time I step over a threshold
Into ashtrays of ashes gibberish

Maybe it may be true
I can hear
Night owls hooting
Whose flapping feathers
Are injected with translucent alcoholic ink
a droplet of which is hanging on a pen's tip
Not for writing crap stories
But for shooting miserable feelings
For stabbing the love target
For Shakespearean courting!