Friday, February 5, 2016


There's got to be a way; there's only
one way. This road is long and narrow 
and just as dark. Yep, and it all comes
together. I carry this candle that blows
in the wind  - a small flame, seemingly
jumping about, but really steady in place.
Only one way while I'm running this race.
There, there's the girl from Marleybone.
I knew her back when she didn't wear a bra.
She's still presentable, yes, and that lack  -  
that lack never left a scar. Her heart's as 
good as gold. I want to scrawl her another 
message on the back of a coaster : something 
suitable, like 'I love you soon then maybe OK?' 
But what sense would that make today?
There's a scramble like eggs downtown. At 
the edge of a coffin they are still serving 
coffee, and all the fine people from the local
cafe want to dispense me advice. Just make
it coffee  -  you can brew it twice, OK? Is that
maybe something new, a new idea? We call
it Double-brewed? Outside, on your bench, I
saw the pain-in-the-butt photographer again;
Oliver Morris, that's him, and all he claims
is tedious. Just the same, I listen in as he goes 
on, holding his court with some aplomb. He
insists on rolling his own cigarettes while he
tries to talk. Never works, can't happen. Just
do one or the other, please, OK?

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