Sunday, May 18, 2008

Last Waltz.

Death and I are close these days.

We talk a lot, we drink
a little, not like we used to
but enough to let the honesty out,
just enough so that we don't
have to feel
the awkward moments before
the kiss, as I look at the floor
and she stares out the window
and it's only a question of when now
and do I make the first move
or will she?

Death and I are close these days,
and in the mornings
we'll walk along the track
by the creek and I'll say things
like, please,
or, somebody,
or maybe I'll grab my hair
in a fist and pull it hard
to try to wake myself up
or maybe as the pedestrians
stroll past me with their dog,
I'll smile and say, g'day
and Death will hide in my heart
silent until they pass
and fuck me
I'll try to keep that smile
on my face
as long as I can
hold her back
hold Death back
but she'll always come back

Death and I are close these days.

And maybe this is her writing now,
tap tapping the abacus
and counting the days
and working out ways
to finish the job
and get paid

because we both know
this prose is no painting
it won't increase in value
after I die,
but I'll damn myself to Hell
today, thinking
it's worth a try.

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