VOLATILE SELF IMAGE
The shaft of sunlight
struck the after shave bottle
and was split
into a promising spectrum
of possibilities.
LOVE LETTERS
The simple truth is
that it is
the Roadrunner
who is sending
the Coyote
those parcels
from Acme.
And the Coyote knows.
WHAT SHE SAID
'Listen,' said the Ichneumon fly
to the caterpillar.
'I
need
you
so
much.'
CAREFUL
There is a wasps' nest in the tree
outside my window.
There is never much activity;
I don't know if many wasps live there.
But I sometimes feel that
I would like - carefully - to peel away
some of those fine wafer layers
and satisfy my curiosity.
Revealing, perhaps,
her thriving heart.
ROOM NUMBER 8
It is a cheap hotel.
The floorboards are cracked and
there is fungus hanging from the ceiling,
proudly, like a decoration.
The dark stairs,
with a handrail I'd rather not use,
lead to a corridor,
half lit through a dust covered window
at the end.
There are doors along either side.
It is third on the left.
Room number 8 with
the door with
the shotgun wired to the handle.
I cannot help myself.
I reach out
SUICIDE PACT
and they faced each other
with tears in their eyes
and they raised their revolvers
to their heads
wept a last farewell
squeezed their triggers
only he made sure
she squeezed hers first
and as he listened to the
echo
of her gun going off
the echo still ringing in his ears
as he phoned for the ambulance
he felt happy
that at last someone had
loved him that much
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