My readers and dreamers

Mostly my readers are in some other country
Where rabbits roam freely across the pages of  books,
And bed bugs are known only to a few miscreants.
I have no readers because they already know what I know,
Though how do they know they know?
I have no readers because I’m too fat or too thin,
My handwriting is illegible,and my typing is worse.
They are dreaming now of dentists,bluebirds and Easter Eggs,
Of  their psychoanalysts hand laundering  their cashmere sweaters.
And whirling them a  sweet story in the old hoover spindryer.
Why don’t psycho -analysts use Washing Machines..
We have a new one,but it must all be done by hand.
You admire, in your reverie,my talent for creation,
And also you hate me,so you keep washing.
The love is the warp and the hate is the weft.
Together they make a garment.
My readers are all sitting in the garden watching birds.
Do you know that you know what I know?