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!