The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness,
Circled three times above the upturned faces
With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings,
And then returned to stagger on her finger.
She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause. . .
The property man hated her ***** birds.
But it had taken years--yes, years--to train them,
To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings,
Or climb sedately little flights of stairs.
When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand,
And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows.
The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire;
The little white ones winked round yellow eyes.

The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness,
Circled three times above the upturned faces
With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings,
And then returned to stagger on her finger.
She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause. . .
The property man hated her ***** birds.
But it had taken years-yes, years-to train them,
To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings,
Or climb sedately little flights of stairs.
When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand,
And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows.
The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire;
The little white ones winked round yellow eyes.

She came from a tropical island,
Dark skin and darker hair.
In my head, she was Jeanne Duval,
And I was Baudelaire.

I wrote her poetry every day,
To less than rave reviews,
"It's really not my kinda ting",
Apologised my muse.

Suffice to say, it didn't last,
Though it lasted for a time.
And I burned that final sonnet,
That I couldn't get to rhyme.

I weave through the crowd
realizing how tiny I am
faces blurring together
my smile jaded
watching people unwind
and ditch their clothes

One of many Key West festivals

I can feel his eyes hateing everyone
looking at me
his hand firmly wrapped around mine
hes not used to this kind of thing
and like a pit bull he looks out for me

We watched as outsiders
and it felt so good to be with someone
I  love
I cant help but see duval as a sea of lost souls
A place where paradise took too many drugs

Like Shaw and Dreyfus
Like Kubrick and duval
Like Klinski and Herzhog
Just like Derek and Clive
A bit like Eric and Ernie
Not at all like Cannon and ball
Antagonism is a tactic
Not loved by one and all