Those guys there, rocking hard on the dart board, chatting
up the cigarette girl like they know her. Big man, in his super
bowl shirt, on the way to the music box, asking the died
blonde girl what it was with her eye. Her smile
drops in the pause, she nods, like we all know full well, shooting
a glace at her throwing friend, “I fell.” It’s ten past twelve.
The abuse of privilege manifests in many ways. Marcus doesn’t
make contact with me. Everyone I know who’s regular, hasn’t been.
They’re all miles away.


History Part Two

Ask americans about the French,
we’ll say, ‘They’re pussies!’
‘They never fight in wars!’

Link needed to ‘american’ revolution

Ask the French about americans,
‘Pussies!’ They’ll call us,
‘Always with happy endings!’

Link needed to American Institutionalism



I’d like to believe, lingering for a time,
in a dark room, bedside, everyone writes
their own story, circumstance typecast, always

the antagonist, the moment passed
so quickly, opportunity, as hero, guarantees
blockbusting sales figures, judge not by

cover, but reputation, we pay for each drink,
what a long night tonight was, lost interest
in the dénouement, had unprecedentedly short,

attention, please, reproductive cycle, spread,
virally, all walks of life, its not what you say,
kneeling, gently, its how long it takes you to say it.