Walkabout In A Psyche

There are days I want to swop myself for another version I'd like to change my world view, The bed I sleep in, even the food on my plate I'd like to peel myself like a black banana And change into a lychee, Luscious and lascivious I could be a stone in a Zen garden No need for haircuts, podiatry, crowds of people No digestive system, weight issues, no diabetes I'm weary of juggling days like a clumsy clown I'd swop long dinners for dynamic fields of roses I'd body-swerve mini-dramas for a dark loch I want to be a diamond, frosted and mute I want every day to be Sunday, that slumps like a tired sofa I want to diminish the seepage of tears from grief I want to be a string of sausages, tormenting sausage dogs I could be ten pips in an apple, and mother orchards