When my friend was living in London
and all of his hope burst like a balloon
abused by a child
he did not know which way to turn
which way to go

Then he was utterly cool, London-like
up to date, suppressing his hate
pretending to be fine
drinking whiskey and wine
with many lovers and others he would dine

He had fifty proof blood at the end
when the stories would not work
any more
and a long look in the mirror
erased the enigma of his charisma