i. m. John Forbes
While peaking lungs slap shut

as thin air wallets

& kitchen floors resound

to confessions & to noisy fucks

you’re out, reconnoitering

the package deal fringes

of paradise where dented

aspirations come to light

at carboot sales

of hawked & haggled

kits for D.I.Y. Parnassian binges

& the self-assembly funhouse

mirrors quid pro quo irony,

the acme of tough love,

requires, in other words

you kept your sense of humour

honest, even when you said

that poems are less important

than a mortgage & a kid.