Cris is ever so good at regularly publishing his posts. He is also ever so good at expecting people to read them. I think I just post this shit so that if the shed roof caves in beneath the bonfireworks tonight, and I am found impaled on the tails of the beastly Crocosaurs and Robo-Dogs with which I share this 'room', when my slug-appareled, unplucked and unblown form is recovered from the dust of the big man's broken dreams, then one of the somebodies that knew me won't have to delve too far to see that, huh, you know what, she wasn't shit. Right up to the end, she was not shit, ya know?
How's that for posterity? I'll make it reallllllly easy for you not to forget about it.
No Barking
What use are baked eggs
in the morning?
Before coffee or doughnuts,
The acquisition of rest
Thwarted, recompense
Suspended in a jellyroll
Dial tone.
What use are pink pyjamas
in the evening?
When oil magnetizes wine
Plucked from the bare bones
Of an almost hairless chest;
Matrimony a matter of milestones
And memories.
What use is a lie?
Drawn up between two posts,
Each strung out nerve host
To the latest version
Of the last goodbye
That got away;
No barking,
No use.
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