I.

“You can only fight the way you practice”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy

His lessons started late
As always, and as always
What is thrown is a question
You grip tightly
around your fingers
as one would,
as one always should.

With a branch he beckons:
“Come” he asks,

“if a stick is struck from this angle,
what would your answer be?”

Always, the old man taught
With each strike, each parry,
Each disarm and lock,
Each time my knuckles
Would hurt. This way
he makes it sure
that my body
remembers.

This is always
the first step.
My mind might forget.
But the body
Remembers.


II.

“It is difficult to realize the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.”
― Miyamoto Musashi, The Book of Five Rings: Miyamoto Musashi

With him, everything starts
The vague quality of nonwords
Taught from pain, simplified
Through science:

the fulcrum and the lever.

Each joint, each turn,
a pattern to comprehend,
all things work in context:

A framework of the undeniable
Fact:

the world is separate
In only these two words:

Taub at Tihaya

The colloquial words for
Face down and face up;
This is a pattern
of the body.

III.

“If you wish to control others you must first control yourself”
― Miyamoto Musashi, A Book of Five Rings: The Classic Guide to Strategy

Tihaya

The lesson starts
When he presses
His thumb forward
to a hand asking for alms
like turning a doorknob
too far to the right.

Taub

when I pull back
four fingers
on a giving hand
too far to what is left.

these are the means
for control.
When I know
How much is necessary
To push or to pull,
To teach or to break.

- 18 October 2017

Felt like the steel tipped edges of a fake sword,
A young lover's sting, inclined to make one sob
And feel sorry

But no, not a word
Spoken 'gainst the face of the snob
Never a parry
Nor a word against sherry

Don Lane and Graham Kennedy entertain in the after life cafe




Don lane '.    Oh yeah I am putting on my top hat, and I also wear nothing else
Because I am dead now, and I don't have to worry about being appropriately dressed,
And I also have a lady sitting over at the bar, and she has great looking legs and *****,
I want to go over to her, hey lady, how are you going today
Lady'.  I am fine, and I am Marilyn Monroe
Don Lane'.   I would've loved to interview on my show
Marilyn'.  No, I heard the afterlife was a good place for me, I was famous in life, I don't want to be famous here.
Don Lane'.  Ok let's go to this table, I know you as well, refresh my memory
And yes Ricky May poured sixteen ice cubes all over Don and
Don said  well, obviously these people didn't want to be famous, ok, who are you
Man said'.  I am Don Bradman
Don Lane'.  You died before me, have you showed the afterlife how you played cricket
Don Bradman'. Yes, and we beat Saturn by 15 runs, and I finally averaged 100, it is pretty cool
Don Lane'.   Who do you play next
Don Bradman'.  Well this weekend we play the Martians from Mars
Don Lane'.  Well here is Graham Kennedy with his after life song
Well I said I wouldn't make it here
Because of the weird joked I told
And I thought the devil will own my soul
But I was stood up straight and tall
Felthad a weird beer up here, they call it AAAA
And I have always wondered since that say
What does the A mean
Then it hit me, oh silly me
The A meant Afterlife
And we are with Ricky May and Tony Grieg
And Don Bradman and Joh Bjieke peterson
Yes, this afterlife is so much fun with a AAAA in my hand,
Ok Don Lane let's parry in the afterlife
Don Lane'.  Ok thanks Graham, now here is Bon Scott with his after life song
The clouds are shaking
And the moon is rocking with the men who are put in there
To scare bad guys away from doing evil on earth
And yes, AC/DC are still going strong on Earth
And I am doing well up here , because it is so easy, man
To be fit and healthy up here, I said you
Shook the after life, all night long
Oh yeah baby, you
Shook the afterlife, all night long
Don Lane'. See you next time, bye

I hate digital alarm clocks.

The eerie way they light a room in the deep of night and that silent way they have of counting down the hours of life left.

It just leaves me exhausted!

At 12.47am I woke to a flickering red haze across my bedroom ceiling that seemed to spread like a stain down the walls to pool on the floor.
Now, I know I should not be reading Amityville Horror in bed, on a full stomach and I’m pretty sure that the block of chocolate that I snacked on while reading may have upped the ante in the endorphin stakes but combined with that evil digital alarm clock I was wide awake at 12.47am and the curtains at the open window were flickering across the harsh red numbers.

The oddest scene was playing around me, like a bad play where all the actors rolled around in a vat of blood before they stepped up.

Kratos and Ares, in full battle regalia where crossing swords with a ferocity of a westerly wind fleeing from Zephyrus himself. The clang of steel was loud in my head and beat a pulse behind my eyes that watched them move around the end of the bed and along the wall along side of me.

The breeze slithering through the trees and through my open window bought whispered entreaties to my ears…

“She mine Ares! I saw her first, I will have her. She is my Yin! I will possess my other half!”

Clang, clang, grunt, clang

“Kratos, you do not know me well to think that I will not fight for the one that can stand with the God of War! I will have her”

Clang, ******, parry, clang

Now, this is where I got really confused.

I was starting to think that the red haze fluttering around the room was from my bleeding eyes because it was now 4.27am and more than 3 hours of my life were gone.

How was I supposed to get that back?

I was idyllically pondering what a Yin was while being gobsmacked by the fact that I was actually the other half of something. But being the other half of Strength?

What does that make me?

Weakness?

What would my Greek name be?

Profligatus?

But that didn’t concern me more than what Ares wanted with me? How strong did he think I was? Sure, I’m a bit prickly at times but for the God of War to focus on me? ****, and I thought I had curbed my enthusiastic condemnation of humanity… Obviously I had not!

But who am I kidding! It was really very nice to have them fighting over me. I’m not really sure who drew first blood (because of the ****** evil digital alarm clock glow) but I’m sure I would have swooned into whomevers arms reached down to claim me had it not been for the sound of the evacuation alarm.

ER ER ER ER ER ER ER ER*

****, ****, ****, the sun has crept over the horizon and has lightened the darkened theater that is my bedroom and it’s the alarm clock that is shrieking a warning that it’s time to start a new day.

****! I’m not ready for this. I’m tired, I want more dreaming, or awakening, or whatever the hell that was!

Most of all I want to know…

What did it all mean?

Sun and Moon posture a battle stance  
Charge of darkness parry of light          
Pagans celebrate the Sun's advance      
Four days from the longest night

Don Lane and Graham Kennedy entertain in the after life cafe




Don lane '.    Oh yeah I am putting on my top hat, and I also wear nothing else
Because I am dead now, and I don't have to worry about being appropriately dressed,
And I also have a lady sitting over at the bar, and she has great looking legs and *****,
I want to go over to her, hey lady, how are you going today
Lady'.  I am fine, and I am Marilyn Monroe
Don Lane'.   I would've loved to interview on my show
Marilyn'.  No, I heard the afterlife was a good place for me, I was famous in life, I don't want to be famous here.
Don Lane'.  Ok let's go to this table, I know you as well, refresh my memory
And yes Ricky May poured sixteen ice cubes all over Don and
Don said  well, obviously these people didn't want to be famous, ok, who are you
Man said'.  I am Don Bradman
Don Lane'.  You died before me, have you showed the afterlife how you played cricket
Don Bradman'. Yes, and we beat Saturn by 15 runs, and I finally averaged 100, it is pretty cool
Don Lane'.   Who do you play next
Don Bradman'.  Well this weekend we play the Martians from Mars
Don Lane'.  Well here is Graham Kennedy with his after life song
Well I said I wouldn't make it here
Because of the weird joked I told
And I thought the devil will own my soul
But I was stood up straight and tall
Felthad a weird beer up here, they call it AAAA
And I have always wondered since that say
What does the A mean
Then it hit me, oh silly me
The A meant Afterlife
And we are with Ricky May and Tony Grieg
And Don Bradman and Joh Bjieke peterson
Yes, this afterlife is so much fun with a AAAA in my hand,
Ok Don Lane let's parry in the afterlife
Don Lane'.  Ok thanks Graham, now here is Bon Scott with his after life song
The clouds are shaking
And the moon is rocking with the men who are put in there
To scare bad guys away from doing evil on earth
And yes, AC/DC are still going strong on Earth
And I am doing well up here , because it is so easy, man
To be fit and healthy up here, I said you
Shook the after life, all night long
Oh yeah baby, you
Shook the afterlife, all night long
Don Lane'. See you next time, bye

I can see the weakness
in my own words- their
weary Translucence,

even as I
wind my euphemisms and parry
****
snip the comma off,

attempt to catch my thoughts
before venom leaks out
of my em-dash.

but I can't.
Won't.
take back any
noun I flung

And So.

as you
walk down the hall

I see my adjectives
Just-
dripping off your
neck
rolling down the corridor

fat, black
and innocuous

and somehow feel
that I have
completely failed

at English.

The nights have become the most difficult
(Never sleep again, never rest again)
To manage.
Deeper, dreadfully
I soar into what I do not believe,
Into a pain much too real
And much more haunting
Than I have ever experienced.
The ghosts are back, Stephen,
They have returned to become the captain
Of my being,
To lust and breed and **** again.
I feign interest
And parry their blows back
Though my defenses are falling
And the blanket on my bed
Is never,
(Never sleep, never lay)
Ever quite long enough to cover me.
My worries today
Are an overheating boiler,
(COME QUICK I NEED HELP
I'M DYING HERE)
Pumping steam and pressure
Out of my jagged edges.

It is getting harder and harder to breathe.
Do you believe in God, Stephen?
I know Kubrick called you and asked the same
Many years before my birth,
But today I need your answer more than ever,
In that my every move seems to propel me
Into many-a-numbered
Ceiling and wall traps
And I am being crushed,
(Never sleep, never rest)
Soiled and trampled at the hand of fate.
I once thought myself too intelligent to believe,
But now I need a higher faith
If only to know that darkness is never truly darkness
And the candles I have left burning in my body
Will never be blown out.

Did you really see that boy,
That childhood friend of yours
Struck down by a train
In your ever so tender youth?
Was his blood and brain matter
What came to you in your darkest hour
As you wrote about presidential suites
And Danny Torrance seeing reverse ******
Played out in front of him for eternity?
Is ****** played out for eternity in your mind,
Too?
(Do you Shine, Stephen?)

They taught us about you in school, Stephen.
They made you out to be a God in yourself,
A novel machine
Intent on overpowering the industry
For your own gain and prosperity.
But those who read you,
(Those who know, those who feel)
Know you as a human.
You spirit, you singer,
You light of my life,
(You twisted man, you monster, you seer of sights)
You have kept the world alive
With sparks and shines
Under eyelids
For decades.

Stephen, I have stuck my hand in the wasp nest again.
Bring me your salvation.
Bring me
(Your understanding, your writer-virtue.)

And so I write to you today,
A young girl of but 18
With her own Shine set to murderous visions
And Terrifying conundrums.
My ghosts follow swiftly in my foot trails
And your novels warm my lap as I try
(So hard, so)
Desperately
To hear your voice,
Bellowing with contempt,
Your tone so monotonous and
Matter of fact,
Even when speaking of such malicious things
I have to stop children from buying your movies at my job
Because I could get in trouble if they see
Jack Torrance kissing a decaying woman
Or Carrie being burned alive in her prayer closet.
(I could get in trouble with the law
If they see the truth you speak,
The tales of loss and preservation you weave.)

Because of you and the horror you have struck me with,
I leave the lights on.
I am fearful
(But so hopeful)
Within myself each day.

Because of you
I have seen men and women
Find peace
Within their own private Overlook Hotels
Housed deep and high
In the mountains of their own consciousness.
Because of you
I have found
(Breathe in, breathe out,
Nothing to see here)
Solace
In my self-contained
Madness.

As I plunge the blade towards her heart
She wraps her arms around me
I wrestle her off to plunge again
she clings on tight, fights on in vain
We feint and parry though she stands in one spot
For she is a rose rambler and pruning my lot

Hope is dangerous
Perhaps that's why it hangs around on street corners
And in doorways
Waiting to waylay me as I pass through
To get my morning coffee

I've been fighting with Hope
But it doesn't fight fair
It has a shiv that cuts deeply into my heart
And the parry fractures on my ulnae
Say more about its victory over my defenses
Than these inadequate words ever can.

Hope has a rap sheet a mile long
And when it comes knocking,
Part of me knows it would probably be better
To turn out the lights and pretend I'm not home

But I'm recklessly unafraid.
And the danger excites me.
And I climb on the back of Hope's motorcycle
Not caring that he's taking the curves too fast
And I let hope sneak me out of the house in the middle of the night
Running away together into the night
Knowing full well that when the morning comes,
He will be long gone.

Hope has me sitting in this car in an abandoned shipyard
Waiting for the drop
Believing, against all sanity, that you will show up
To make the exchange
To continue the deal.
Hope is reckless and fearless
Hope is the explanation behind every one of these scars

I haven't seen you in a long time, but
Foolishly, I still believe in your promise
And soon, the court date with Hope will come
And my love for you will stand trial
Though it's never been anything but innocent,
I know I would be found guilty, time and again
Hope blasphemously sits in the judges chair
Feet up on the railing
As he waits for you to show up and swear in.

Hope brokers back-door deals with me in the passenger seat
Leads me down dark alleys at 2 in the morning
Making promises nobody could ever keep
He keeps my bank account at an all-time low
He holds the gun to my ribcage in the tattoo parlor and asks, one more time
"Will this save you? Will this make you free?"

Hope is an exercise in flirtation with disaster
Except that Hope doesn't know how to flirt,
Doesn't do anything halfway -
It becomes an exercise in falling in love with disaster
Finding beauty in the broken things.

I'm begging you -
I know Hope is dangerous
But please don't tear him away from me
Dear god, please.
Because if you leave this time
If you fail me now
If you walk away, he walks with you.
Despair becomes my only company

And though dangerous, Hope is exciting
Despair just hands me the bottle of tequila
And shaking his head knowingly, tells me
To drink until it's empty
To say goodbye to you and Hope
The only way I can

fireflies zigzag following pupils pin *****
light mayonaise layers dead flesh and dead seeds
shadows bleed through the cracks
a lone train howls its hastening arrival
Alarming call like an unseen wolf

Flashing lights overhead and a low rumble
a condensed storm
helicopter cradling its dying cargo
bringing a regurgitation for the baby bird
disguised as a hospital with a faltering business plan

mufflers and mosquitoes parry the blows
winded joggers step next to termite eaten trees
Channel surfing seen         a strobe lite
betraying the activities behind the neighboors
curtained windows            scene
rituals carve another day into the known
comfort is routines cage
a worn trail rut that hardly allows
a different direction      roll the stone uphill

My words are my armour, my blade, my security.
I use their definitive purpose to strike, to wound, to ****.
I have no need to use an actual knife, my rapier bladed tongue
cuts with an accuracy of a surgeons scalpel.
If you have no parry, or riposte, I'll Épée a thrusting word like the sword.
Your entire being is a valid target, I cannot fight with fists, I cannot crush
you physically, but mentally I will make you my target for words.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones! but words will never hurt me"

Oh, but they will hurt. Long after a scar has healed, a cut has scabbed,
words will linger, haunt and remind your every waking moment of the day you picked a fight, a dalliance if you will with a lexicographer.

Sweet dawn
Sunrise, day
You must leave the night queen's bay..
Spy lovers lingering
Love still goes on
See the wonder
The light in the night,
The sigh of my heart as the arrow strikes
The tune in my bed
Races around in my head                                            
You..  with me..
Let the music play..
Wine and verse, parry the chord
Take my breath,
*Don't say another word

(Before you read this, this is only applicable to my experience, I'm not judging you if this is still your life; it's written more because it was my life and I wasn't living.)


At the time I thought it helped me socialise,
now it’s no surprise I look through anti-social eyes;
supplied with a look over the shoulder guise.
Bored of chasing a broken prize, smoke n lies
I chose to thrive, pry open these permanently closing eyes.
It was the bane of my existence,
now my resistance is high instead of me.
I better be the best pedigree of I.
Instead of the guy flying with eyes far from wide
spying those that despise trying to get inside my mind,
to find they aren't real. Addicted no longer,
uplifted, higher than leaves can carry,
now you’re green with envy while I parry
back your attacks and crack on.
I blow-back your slow trap and reflect upon your affliction
I’m best without your friction on my lungs,
now I’m cutting you with the diction from my tongue,
no grinder.  Now my mind’s up to speed,
no amphetamine, no dependency,
it certainly seems that I’m living better than I could ever dream.
I’m an evergreen standing steady for centuries.
At the time I thought it helped me socialise,
now it’s no surprise I look through anti-social eyes;
supplied with a look over the shoulder guise.

My name is Thomas de Charney
16 years old but rarely play
Father a humble Templar Knight
Pedigree noble bloodline might

Was born special is all I know
For God’s direction to and fro
Shield from danger ab ovo
Reason revealed from His glow

Broadsword and lance, reading abound
Practice and fight til victors crowned
Warrior and Monk seen as one
One and Only Begotten Son

Father taught me the skill to fight
Learn skill to read on parchment write
Knight Templar to be, but then what ?
Fate left to God with no rebut

Then one day Father came to me
Young Parsifal son you will be
Sequestrated as directed
Pushed to excel unaffected

Templar Knight who carries his sword
Doing God’s work for no reward
Beget with specific design
Some day made known I do consign
_____________
Father, it’s time we practice, yes—deke the
wield of your sword and parry your blows, and
push myself until all the sweat has left my
body. For I am a young Parsifal soon to become
a Templar Knight.

I am not a martyr.
I am not so pious as to suffer the slashing of a knife-edged tongue.
For what cause?

What peace could my silence bring me?

My tongue is metal too.
Perhaps not as sharp as yours,
My words still have the soft scent of gold about them,
But it is metal too.
And I am not a martyr.

I remember when you coddled my name on your tongue.
It was safe there against the slick muscle and gentle press of taste buds.
Why is simple sentiment and unblemished truth to complex for you now?

I don’t want to play these games of ****** and parry with you anymore.
I am cut, you are bleeding, and we are both weary
From the constant cleaving of delicate flesh.

It is a bitter taste that blooms as steel is folded into my tongue
By life and time and all the things we never talk about.
My mouth is tinged with metal and my breath is wet with blood.


This, my love, is a battle for fools to partake in.
My tongue is not yet a blade, too dull for cutting.
All I want to be is soft flesh and slick muscle.
I am not holy enough to stomach the taste of blood on the back of my teeth.

I am not a martyr and neither are you.
So I’ll go.

"How are you?"
The crispness of your voice, cracking the surface of the perfect silence
It snaps me out of my own thoughts
Eyes focused, smile on; "Fine" I manage
"Good" you ramble and continue on to yourself; I assume since you skipped the pause -
The pause where you debate if I'm telling the truth
I retreat back into my thoughts
Eyes transfixed on that spot in the distance
The one I'll draw to me if I
Just
Keep
Staring
I'm not sure how long I've been gone, but judging by the renewed silence, I've missed my cue
To back up your outrage
Or congradulate your assertiveness
Blah blah blah
"Are you listening?"
The tone a little more inquisitive, eyes a little more searching
Eyes focused, smile on, "Sure" I try
You sigh and wait
I'm happy to let the silence have it's turn to talk
You clear your throat
I sit
"Fine", you lunge- trying to pierce my armor
I parry, not baited
Who has time to be sad?
Why talk about feelings?
What I want, who I miss, how to cope
I smile weakly
"I'm fine"
Change the subject

Eros:
the days leap as they should,
over serrated blades of grass: brightly,
transcendentally.
i open the voluminous page
of the twilight: it is October bruised
with brindled water.
white is the color of your laughter,
nourishing the noise of heart, crumpled
over the virginal sheet.
in the staring mirror dizzy with life,
shining with a sudden image
in sempiternal fume: both of us,
twining, entering each other
even before the world was complete,
heavy with your hair, lithe with
your embrace, eyes gorged with
  naked visions,
hands flayed, full of hours—
i make your ample sea my scarce wave's
anchorage, erasing the twinge
by habit of shores.
i weep: you are filling the world with your own light now drowning the shadows
in the depths of their caves, choking
the silence, wringing out the leafage
of your body's inflorescence.
in vivid decree of your smile, you have
made me the cargo of minutes
rummaging across the dunes of lust:
the tousled sheets,
nearing, coming to me, swarming
soft body: we fell into the hollow of sleep.

Thanatos:
here at the lip of the bed
receiving our smallness, the days—
felled into the night, stilled,
in this finite hour a darker blue
is given; i speak not of love.
how are we alive here?
raining inward, above the brim
of an open window, do you wind-hover?
your voice has escaped the dungeon
of my mouth, and the twining of
our fingers give birth to a forest of specters and a moonless love demanded.
i beat through your harsh curve;
i go tracing your eyebrow
engulfed in the festering fever
of half-light marches and the faint spark
of autumn leaving no tawny scent—
there is only silence peregrinating
in the room before you and after I,
it began to pour in our room,
both of us struck down to mortals
together with a feint recall i cannot parry:
we fell into a bottomless hollow of eyes,
chasing our chained breaths, wordless.

Four crows, black on cloud,
Dark, sordid wings parry and ******—
Murdering white skies.

A semblance of civility
Blurs my true periphery

Catch my eye, draw me in
Drop the ball, it reeks of sin

Elsewhere in this hedgerow maze
Freedom lies throughout the haze

Growing now beyond its bounds
Happenstance, it stains the grounds

If you should stumble, lose your way
Join in the chorus of the day

Knowing can be all the difference
Leave me to my present-tense

Mind the guardians, ever-wary
Noose the neck, a strike to parry

Open your eyes and let it go
Perhaps there's magic in the snow

Quality is oh-so subjective
Reality needs no further directive

Something bleeds within the court(ship)
Tending only to the tongue-slip

Under sway: Of push and pull
Victorious is the slaughtered bull

When do we know the truth of all?
X-crossed eyes before the fall

Young blood taints these monuments
Zero is the question we can't make sense.

And then she said
It's time for bed
As up the stair she led me

And as time flew
I knew it true
'Twas fate that she should bed me

That bright young girl
With skirts that twirl
Was never meant to parry

And on that day
It's fair to say
I knew that we would marry

Betrayal
in her eyes
as truth settles in
to watch the show.
I try for calm,
but poison butterflies
grow claws
and rip my words
to shreds.
I parry with Honesty,
taking hits so sudden
my breath has no choice but to retreat,
wondering why Justice played
her Champion
so late.
I couldn't see
what I had destroyed at the time.
Or perhaps
I wouldn't look
Consequence in the eye.
Now
Here it all is.
It stares me down.
I can't watch
the emotions dance
through her mind.
Defeat is imminent
so I accept
the fate of my secrets
because finally
I can see
**what I've done.

Violet light Bleaches steaming emptied emus' bladders on time, I want I want I am amongst the Atman at dusk man's lust rises ****** parry as a guardian of the gourd the glory of the gore internal innards languish read the spare change small children inquire currency smell of bleach eases the crucible fixing my easel with ease as all society is, is a trap, a trap lime citrus as sweet as Virginity as **** as a tarp pushing out rain water for a creature's belief in solidarity, soil begs to return sustained by nourishment of the water table and rain shadow, fees lie fallow I am a three field system mid evil as a midwife. aggregate agates gating Gaelic gaiety, fair as faith fairly free as a fairy, pixie sticks mixed well with angel dust I return my receipt as I am an alchemist to Egypt saying 2 sips taste better, who's at a crude joke who explains rude yokes poked by a spear leering silence at the steer awaiting an opacity to light my lantern, forsake advancement for the sun bends gravity as an attitude, who of many resist the power of effulgence, even lycanthropes need hope for the souls as the basis of reflection brings the rains sparked in rainbows.

What makes a friend? cogar a creyo una mi Amiga Bonita hace difficl estoy muy triste para la pnta y ala comer mierda.

UV is not a Cavalier, the ultra violet alpha is a royalist

Four crows, black on cloud,
Dark, sordid wings parry and ******—
Murdering white skies.

an alter ego I’ll invent
a handsome know it all agent
to whim and parry the low event
and explain the thought I really meant
it was so here then there it went
settled under the Sheik of Arabia’s tent
in desert camp under the firmament



Saturday, October 26, 2013

Four crows, black on cloud,
Dark, sordid wings parry and ******—
Murdering white skies.

Stolen cases of liquid, bubbly alcohol and
I'm whining that I don't have any cigarettes.
36th chambers against my ear drums as
Youth blasts through the bridge over chopped water.

I parry a blow to my abdomen and
Spill beer everywhere.
Someone says something in another language.
A farce about debauchery had never rang so true.

Smile. Show them it's you.
Grin. Blow to the tune.
Order. Show that you know what to do.
Drink. Turn your liver to stew.

It's so crowded the legs have disappeared
And whoever was near is now long gone.
Then, there's the song, the one you know by heart.
Everyone knows the lyrics
Like diamonds in a cart.

So much haze now. The last man is standing.
The dogs are outside restless and panting.
There's no cab in this ******* city that can take me home!
The bachelor's wife deceased has phoned.
Call her back, to let her know.

You, at least, have the right idea on your shoulder.
A letterman jacket pinched around her waist
As tight as a rubber band around a mockingjays neck.
I and you or you and I make our move towards the nightlife.
Things couldn't be any better.

Remember when you made your pass at wisdom?
How the crowds cheered and smiled with you?
A rush of fingers through our five dollar gelled hair.
Dear whisperings of nuclear proportions at 5am
In tune with the death of Dylan be it a mystery

Put a tune on the needle
Round her back then push her to fetal
Allow madness into your life
Stir it in
And see what you are tomorrow

It's OK
She said.
It will be fine
She said.
What will be, will be
She said.

I told her to
Say it
In French.

I don't know French
She said.

I laughed.
She left.
I watched her go
Out the door.