Turn off that telly,
set down that pen.
Breathe in breathe out.


So the razor, that's
the stylish
side of life these days;
the cool heat the soft edge the
Bitter, bitter water

(so says I they you we them)

in the pools. Made by
backed up pipes. In the potholes.
Sun and moon care not;
dirty mirrors make the face
shine. Give up the ghost,
girls. Let the pigeons

(who loves doves, these days?)

fly free. A cigarette butt is
an olive branch is fine,
fine by me.
Say hello with the mouth filled.
Say bless me, bless you. Bless
my fallen. . .

Give up the words.
Stale. These things rot
in the sun.
There's nothing quite like


for making tragedy taste cheap.

AKL 2005