Skip to content


January 27, 2013


You’ve heard the one about the scorpion and the frog?
I wonder, perhaps, if Aesop ever met a scorpion quite like you?
Perhaps the bitch got bridled.
Par une méchante femme comme vous.
Bitten and ridden.
A hook in the jaw.
Bewildered and bidden.
Begging for more.

Our little policy of mutually assured destruction.
Ensconced in the cellar.
With my bones on the handle.
Designed for a dead man.
Cobwebbed and corroded.
Our little construction.
Listening for licence.
On the curve of the world.
A triptych of clocks.
With two times that are loaded.
The dirt hard and frozen.
In terminal stock.

The snow settled in your sable hair.
Like milk scattered in an unfettered sky.
Scorched as black as carbon.
And the black hole in your eye.

I know friends have said.
It’s no competition.
But we know one another.
And who’re we kidding?
I got the bunker and you got the barrow.
I got the bones and you got the marrow.
You got the field and I got the fallow.
You got tomorrow and I got the tarot.

So, I’m down a few horses.
But I can hold fast.
I may have no future.
At least you’ll still have your past.


From → Poetry

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: