I judiciously carved the bad
news into reasonable chunks that were easy to
swallow if hard to digest there was the momentum of some terrible gravity behind my every word each was weighed and then
dispensed on tablets of stone saying
if you strike the first blow I shall surely strike the last
it was a diabolical pact but I just couldn’t see for the blood in my eyes had so blinded me I was manky I had been less than diligent with my applications you might call me lazy but I was tired of the front and so I dropped my guard the signature of a chump
I took the blows due me and maybe more besides
but there’s always a final straw
an injury that cannot be
borne often it’s a concealed blade nestled in the hand of a friend I’d be a hypocrite to complain my dabs were all over that instrument and the blood on my hands was not my own
the secrets stashed in my
head the occult pleasures of my heart the treasures I have plundered then passed off as my own mark me out as a singular failure the simulation of a man in the solitude of my cell I pray to my pig god that no-one sees my true face or the bloody hands that betray my guilty secrets and my empty aspirations
in my lonely hours and
minutes I fashioned myself a nifty club from the jaw bone of some arsehole it’s useful for beating my head with I hear the talk I know an ambush when I smell it special preparations whispers glances knives are being sharpened plots are hatching and slithering home the devil’s arithmetic comes up snake eyes
for Johnny
if they knew what fragile
cargo I was carrying
they might have cut me some slack I won’t go into the inventory
of misdemeanours I’ll
cut to the capital crimes I murdered the days that led
to the now
I squandered my time on cheap thrills
and pricey highs the flickering images sear the brain those were the days of sexual
mystique and bold enterprise the object of adoration
wields a powerful magic over the obsessed the grass was
always greener over the next horizon never satisfied with what I
had I’d
trade all I possessed for a pocket full of promises
my biological imperative was
strong I
couldn’t keep it in my pants my road was paved with dodgy intentions and fleshy
desires you have to stay ahead in that game the greedy always bite the hand that feeds it’s
expected of them it’s dog eat cat in those kennels
I learned to sleep in shallow latrines on egyptian cotton and busted bed springs gazing up at cracked ceiling mirrors where decades of hope dissolved like baby aspirin I’m an aged gigolo a smudged entry in last year’s diary my sleazy charm and phony smile always seemed like my last best defence but my life has grown cold from hustling for change and god knows I need change there’s one more hit left in my locker I’m going to nail that number and then lay back to dream as gods do
