My toes

I have to go to the gynae oncology
So they can study my ass’s topology.
I can’t see it myself
For love or for wealth.
But I do feel what one might call neurotology

I sleep with a light on my nose
And a flask of gin next to my toes
I dream through the dark
As I sail on my ark.
But where that is, only me knows.

In dreams we can process our lives
without cutting our brains up with knives.
Mind surgery’s free
Or at least it should be.
But who knows what surgeons connive?