although we might have chewed on the same

page we never lived on the same continent

my new revised atlas confirms that    i am

not of the same stock cube as you    i filched

those cubes to add flavour to my misdemeanours;

you coveted my watermelon thongs although they

were the wrong accessories for your cassock your

whiskey profile made me lie so i could extract

myself more rapidly     i never left the hose

on or stole the prunes    i just needed something

to declare in that claustrophobic broth    your wry

desire left nothing to the imagination but a throb

of narcolepsy    how many strings of beads went

rusty while the candles gutted themselves    you had

too much cheek to turn things around      how many stuffed

holes in their shoes with the pages of your little black rule book

in the years of the credit squeeze      i spied you hurling a decomposed

fish down the aisle like a scarecrowed olympian    your motorcycle

slithering into the delta’s bullrushes    its slick conspiracy