Friday, October 27, 2006



Before and after,
they kept each other warm
by telling tales of themselves,
to exchange stories
like borrowing clothes,
though they couldn’t really wear each other,
they might easily wear each other out,
night after night,
favourite stories like favourite songs,
played repeatedly,
lose their addictive freshness,
dull their essence,
allusions and allegories
turn to being obvious,
but they had the lust
for the impenetrable, inexhaustible questions
a quest to lose themselves
in each others jungle thicket,
with a thousand and one questions,
on a thousand and one nights,
producing stories they passed the time with
between the evenings and moments
of intimacy,
stories short on substance,
long on length and detail,
four omnibus volumes
soon to be remaindered for a fiver,
their kisses could not be just kisses,
their sighs could not be just sighs,
their love could not be just love,
without an appendix of fiction,
only in the mornings when they awoke
alone in separate beds,
still alive,
did the clean knives of insight
cut deeper and stir
the unloved ,forgotten stories
about death.


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