Thursday, May 8, 2008


We're walking down the street together.
You and me, Matilda.

It's Autumn,
which means everything around us is dying.
And all that gold is washed away,
along the gutters,
with the rains,
the golden streets gone down the drains,
today's refrain
hangs still as yesterday's dream,
but it seems yet that you are tomorrow.

What did you do, before the internet?
You ask me.
Did you still write? Did you still tell everyone everything?
All the facts and moods
of your day to day mundane
and pain?

Well, I say,
hirsute now and wise,
well, I say,
it was harder back then,
a lot more work.

I used to send out newsletters,
The Daily Hell,
and I'd handwrite them
all about myself
with all my writings
and sometimes
even a picture.

But the hardest part was
knowing three days in advance,
what I would be feeling,
and what I would be doing,
because you know,
I had to post the newsletters
mail them to all my friends,
and so that meant
three long days to arrive.

You are wide eyed,
my love,
when you ask,
You mean, you could see the future?

yes actually...
[and I can't help but smile]
what I did was,

I looked at the long range weather forecast,
I looked at the ingredients inside my refrigerator,
I calculated the positions of the Sun, Moon and Saturn,
I ironed half of my shirts
I rearranged my sock drawer
I left a half lit cigarette, burning outside in the ashtray
I whispered to my friends, however far they were, that I loved them
I told The Devil, to leave well enough alone

and then,
I'd take a pocket full of coins,
wait until midnight, when the moon
had my loins, slightly a' flutter
like that leaf (I point) in the gutter
and when clouds did gather thick
on top the hill beside my house,
I'd stick my fist
and rattle and twist
the coins aloft
and read their flight
a shining knight?
of stars his armour?
a travelling man
a top a llama?
a payment paid late?
a twist of fate?
what will become
three days from

that way
I'd know what I was doing in three days time
and I'd know what to write in my newsletter.

Then later that night
I'd type it all up
nice and neat,
with a picture: complete.


you say,
in the future,
when you read this.

I like that way MUCH better
than the internet!

And I hold your hand in my Autumn
and say:

Me too, love.

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