By | 2 February 2001

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.

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