watcher not in the act

looking for me

taking photographs of each minute

watching the scene as I wrote

looking for me

to bring the moment alive

I started asking

c’mere baby can’t you see

you’re the looker on

the watcher not in the act?

shhhhh she whispered

I want to capture what you got

but I knew what I held

don’t come in rattle cans

hygiene wrapped from the market

only exists in the fleeting

frisson between me & you

& that kind of magic

can’t be pulled from the bag

ordered for the capturing eye

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eat around it ok?

I’m loving the steak

I said

but this sauce…

scrape it off man

he called out laughing

I don’t mind

I like it

thought you might too

eat around it ok?

so I did

I scraped it off

ate around it

& that’s what we all

need do

identify the things we like

scrape away what we don’t

eat around

what we can’t chew on

though I found all that hard

to hold onto

when I went to the ballet

the one time

To do anything

just to get yourself

out of bed

throw those hot covers back

plant feet on the floor

do the toilet thing

& then to set about

your day

the sheer acts of will needed

to just eat breakfast

make & drink the coffee necessary

find clothes to cover your body

get dressed

sitting to put on socks

the heroism required

to go out of the door

be prepared for

meeting the masses

being inane

in their own special ways

wanting to say hi hello

catch your eyes

when all you ever want

is to kill or pray for peace

any revolution

the apocalypse

the rapture

so we can all

just cease go home

in our last moments

& do

whatever it is we finally decide

we want to do

they let you know

if you watch the signs

you get there before them

he was looking for some guy

he felt had done him wrong

& we were stringing along

for nothing else to do

as he stalked the riverfront

looking for his man

& there crossing the junction

there was a clatter of steel

flash shining in the streetlight

he’d accidentally dropped

his pressed steel knuckles

& he called the night as over

this accident confirmed that

as now the cops wouldn’t be long

truth being he hadn’t the guts to do

but felt he had to show out

as a man of violence

tho’ we knew now without doubt

while his resolve might be good

his will to do the actual wicked stuff

was never that strong

there is romance

in hearing her

rattle the toilet roll holder

there against the wall

knowing in seconds I can get in

do my thing

get the morning going

there is romance

hearing her breathe

guinea pig sounds in the night

snuffle pig I call it

as she moves restless

between too hot sheets

there is romance

in the smells the closeness

intimacy of two rotting bodies

living together doing exactly

what nature demands

there was little romance

when I lived apart

rattling in rooms

farting in the stillness

sleeping alone

dying in solitude

gracelessly