diary



I saw him

I gave him a star and a box of paints

he gave me a skull earring and a small black purse

embroidered with flowers

now mad, injured, trapped, buried

I dont know where he is

tony, I love you my friend

did saint germaine of the purple flame

mean anything to you?

now mad, trapped, buried, injured and penetrated I lay

and there is no difference between us

or among us as friends

I have been too critical, I know

I wished to make it go away

and have everything neat, tidy, orderly and sane

and where is there room for you now?

I wish I could visit you now, you know

outpasses, patients, closed wards, bottles of medication and all that

as well as tie dies, paisleys, patchouli and dungarees

and skeleton park

but there seems no room for that

or you, on the saint andrews church pavement

playing spanish madrigals on your guitar

the last remnants of order in a confused, terrified brain

I gave you socks and a toothbrush for your kit

I hope you don't mind.