he was a beautiful thief in the night with a handbag full of greek syntax there was nothing he couldnt do right or wrong – or up or down, or east or west, nothing nothing could steal syllables he’d tucked into the tiny pockets and he lent from those he stole a dream Medea’s dream: a dream of might, eye sockets, dry and pale. When the scooter stalled, letters clattered loose over stone bottlenecked, in the participles of success his beauty blinded. His swagger, lost in the night. And how the night edits! He steps into the gaps between the words, curls around a comma like a tadpole, for language swims our blood and and curdles our silent scream this thief in the night all father land and mother tongue pebbled the night ’scape stoned jar slaked no thirst like this ransomed meter run Touched my life and broke my heart with his quicksilver tongue that strung fairy lights into the night sky as he seduced and stole the moon and slipped her pale light into his pocket just to illume you or so he said. The fairy lights paled in the morning and the moon was gone altogether and not only that, a fierce storm was rolling in – it looked like rotten weather so he hoist her sails and in he plunged pity he got caught -beauty should be free He turned her blood, her life's stream, into a black sea that with it's rage rose like a tsunami the hurt – it feels so real if I could warm that hurt and make it subside… which I cannot, because a thief is a thief! a criminal, accountable for vexations he has caused ah! yes ! he mused, love is a thief… yet none complain of its robbery… now if i were to steal the priest's golden cup and give its contents by deception to the unbelievers still my cup runneth over to thievery's side spoiling for tales with a slick sleight of hand brilliant dramatic monologue … some guys get the order wrong so many times. … dam that golden fleece. A poet? He's the guy who writes the insides of Hallmark cards. Wish you were here. Not. Aaaah, yes, the morning after diatribe… well now, girl…you knew the risk to diss a thief. I know a poet writes with feeling. but Re Yolly’s comment. Forgive my youth but who is Yolly wishing not to be there?? The thief???
he was a beautiful thief in the night
14 December 2009