without even batting what could pass for an
ear nose or throat specialist’s peculiarly long &
delicate eyelid talking of prime-ministers & by
implication economics the price of legations &
corporate structures could ignite mass fireworks
for ever! a painterly abstraction of mardi-gras
festivity is blasé not quite a workaday dilemma
‘find me some money’ says jack to the now
modernly named children their faces dripping
with saccharine hate of things other they nod
as if the history of nods & that canon where nothing:
dust & bullshit! it seems implicit that jack himself
becomes flyblown refuse but progresses through
the rest of the next six months with a tiny badge
of courage printed on the inside of his thigh a
scar where his girlfriend got carried away or
maybe just the furious kick of a modern child
who cares! or knows or betrays an involuntary tic
every time we speak in that apocryphal ‘vague’
manner throwing away the past & spreading out
on a bed of cake everything is possible, jack, lines
are not spoken but edited in to this life subliminally
.