OK THEN, YOU'RE NOT
GETTING IT FROM ME
(assassination's arrow, sunday)
'This escapade is over : the tophat surveillance of a
government fuse will just have to end. I am a madman,
and paranoid to death about you. Ask me no questions,
for I will offend. Why must I tolerate voracious maligners
who are up to no good - and we know who they are.'
-
As he spoke I doffed my hat - expecting spittle from
his mouth to soon hit my face. He was loud, like the
Seventh Avenue bus is loud; like the screech of
the subway below. Nothing more than that; words.
-
Alone over the varied circumference of the old
cityscape, he traveled singly - to taunt, to talk, to
yell and harangue. And people paid him for this; his
hat, unlike mine, often filled with quarters and dollars.
Lots of little boy pickings within.
-
I think a part of everyone wants to know - 'what are
you saying, and where did you get this information?'
As it is, no-tell on his part is a foreign policy of exclusion.
If he had a gun I'd have to run. If I had a bow, I'd have to go.
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