If you're still fighting the fight
you're still getting
it right.

Never give in.

Written on a cocktail napkin in a West End bar,
'how are things looking so far?'

better by the minute and I called for a second round
and then Mike Tyson knocked me out

and it's not anywhere near Boxing Day.

Poised with pen in hand again
and stabbing at the page,
I think and if I am because
therefore doesn't get a look
in at my door.

Still poised
like a heron on a diet.

Daybreak.
I watch the miraculous, which is
an everyday occurrence
but miraculous it is,

brainstorms
wreak havoc
I seek sanctuary from the winds of change
while the beggar asks, 'any change'

guessing, one man's meat
is another man's poise
and he goes on because of the loop
eyebrows droop
regroup
reform?
hmm maybe,

but the salt on a fried fish
tells me only
that the fish had happier times.

..and our Bonanza
a cannabis-fueled cloud,
let us call it
the new age
miasma

brain dead read into the DNA
and
everyone's out to lunch.

The Greenwich pips slip away
and the day trips off
somewhat daintily
as the night slips in
rudely.

***
or Fuchs that I don't give
because I don't live in
Germany.

I blame it all on Radetsky
but only because Mozart
wouldn't see me
and **** him as well.