for S. Delany

November 14, 2018 at 3:32 pm Leave a comment

for S. Delany

tormented and wounded
in her words’ tearing lurch, he

be-sandalled and be-spectacled
had wandered the tired
the metalled street

and tasted the stale fog/perhaps-smog
of three o’clock of a weekday
three o’clock in a greyed City morning

considering various
heroes, villains, and other fools,
having

run from the worded woman
who skewers him at times
with her merest glance

but has birthed these various
worlds, these unlikely
(and moving) protagonists; when

i stiffen in my last breath,
surely,
i shall see Kid Death

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, social psychology, voices. Tags: , .

story on conjoined meanings

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