his presence stained long
after his glitter
wore thin

uncaring that
his hollow self
festered

puerile jokes regaled
spawning an
ingratiating syrup

of slick deception
fashioned by conceit to
fool most

but the astute
who sensed a rank
dearth of authenticity

long lost
to the lure of
common expediency

Friday- the most promising day of all.
The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall.

Down on Mainstreet all the girls
In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes.

The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly.

Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet.

Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans.

'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr.

'Who are you?' he stirred,
'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow.

And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies.

So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck:

'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore.

'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile.

That was the final chord to the "lick".
He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy.

'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed.

'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?'

And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly.

As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.

I miss my best friend. I miss being able to talk about anything and everything. It was what I lived for. I leaned too far though. I depended on you to cheer me up and lie and that was wrong of me. I am so sorry. I am sorry you have not had an easy life and you feel so alone sometimes yet I'm even more sorry that you still feel the need to lie and put others down because you're so insecure about the great unbearable truth being revealed. We have gone our separate ways and nothing can be the same as it ever was. Nor do I want or need that. I do not need you. I do not need lies to give me confidence. I have me and that's just fine. I have done great without you. I cannot tell you any of this though because it does not matter. You never truly did. You ruined me

He stands like a Michelangelo
Statue of David;

Naked, perplexed
Shoulders - flexed
Abdomen, stretched.

In his **** glory
He carries a pitchfork, a warning glare.
Ready to slay Goliath, with his bare snare.

A symbol of strength, youth, beauty
And I must protect his duty.

For he loved me as the stoat loves the hare.
And I loved him as the poor girl that loves the rich, old man.

I all but food for his stomach
A helpless maiden, haunted puppet.

Nomad of Hades,
I have seen her emerald carriage...
And the treacherous path she walks on lingers with hyacinths and crocuses.

With every step of her yellowish limbs
She casts another hero to her vestigial garden
And she inhales the golden dust
That grows from the carob trees of lust.

She wears her lies in subterfuge
Even Mercury is struck by that ghastly perfume:
And let Uranus scatter more fertility into the seas- so that more maidens will fall under her trees.

Her weeping, her weeping!
We ask what is wrong, but her soul lies sleeping. Dormant, indifferent,
In lucid fantasies she cries,
'Have you any dreams for sale, warrior of Troy?'

These women, these women! Are they not content with the gifts and ways we please them?
'I seek to hold the wind,' she envelopes me with her long hands and pleading eyes.

And this is why I flee today.
I gave her what I could: intimacy and a place to stay.
Yet a pool of water lays before me and brass-stained roses all dark and gay!

Hélas, she has transpired and leaves with no delay!