Part 8 (1/2)

TANK-TOP

I was playing sonatas on your skin-- no beauty & the beast scenario though the Tower pulchritude was intact with enough purple agape grape leaves and ivy for a fig-leaved Eve with wind wet at the windows (and later the willows), where gravelly, cloven hooves became party to my thoughts; for you, blessed with a triangular patch, --and something like strawberry-- lay moist & woven into strict tapestry like a mantle covering abrupt oasis of skin (the better to peer in).

I scaled the heights not castle vaults, mind you, but the elevator shaft and draw-bridge equivalent of a white charger-- fierce visor in place --armour gleaming-- a sabre rattling at my side be-jewelled & twinkling the key clinking there, to corner distance (time & s.p.a.ce) dragons to be dirked and slain.

Fiery eye, forked tails donut-sized scales plastered as a calendar or s.h.i.+ngler might a tiled roof --the empty spell Bellerophon spying his Lady in a belfry on driving home.

VIEWER MAIL

The sky was a ringed net of honeyed light, (colours from peeled apples) funnelling cloud ...

tumbler over dice (the carrot throat lemonade pie) twin coins in a fountain brief lantern spark amid twittering noise.

The trees were awaiting giants gathered to fumble about the river noiseless bridge and, I, skysc.r.a.per man dangling a reflection, (afternoon tea) muddy me Jimbob expression water angling for dirt.

IMAGISTIC

There in the cosmos-- white dwarfs launch a black rooftop imagistic, clean as a pantry, the twilight roads with ledges lean like raw openings.

And coming upon stars in a country woodhouse --cold, big as frozen pears, each breath of light visible thru c.h.i.n.ks & cl.u.s.ters of broken ceiling wood; hands raw & nipped sawing logs-- breath menacing the depths on inner s.p.a.ce, something pale and profoundly suggestive.

LIVING ROOM

If anatomy were a contact sport, the stomach would be a football estomac, hammock sagging . . . .

the container of riotous living pried loose.

And the head-- a barrel of nails, binder-twine unravelled into knots; the brain a cauliflower for flavouring, precious little else.

Spare the heart its dagger pleasure inveighed from the start.

HIGH ROLLER

1 Terrorism-- left-wing nerd (twin grapefruits in his hand gives it away) winging a stiletto shoe, spitting on an ashcan to bring up a bruise or two.

2 Visions are steadier-- I see in the s.h.i.+mmer blue veins to target, a silhouette of the rich, fur wraps in their Bentleys time to bring up tar, kick a.s.s in Knightsbridge with my holiday bomb blast.

3 Bag s.n.a.t.c.hing can be dangerous let go if you don't want to be dragged over cobbles behind a Vespa.

4 The Harrod's sign, ”please keep moving” meant business.

5 Pretoria calls as does Manila.

Later, perhaps, Jerusalem, Beirut, Rawalpindi.

6 Closer to home (I am of the Red Army faction) is the Bologna train station.

7 Counting hours down my b.u.t.ton line, three less then pay-off, squeakily clean.