gentlemen with hats

i.

act one: he is half asleep

a canary in a trance, his yellow raincoat

gathers drops of rain - pearls, he says, pearls

he is not ashamed. raincoats are useful, raincoats

have an air of poetry about them, and at the heart,

he insists, he is still a child.

ii.

guitars in grey air, smoke from wooden hollows

iii.

he is smiling, he cannot

stop, a smile edging on

abandoned strings and ghosts that

everyone sees. he wants to laugh, his mouth

is too small to contain the panic fluttering in

his chest like a million cockatoos, he wants

to laugh but he cannot laugh now, if he

laughs now he will cry and if

he cries now he will scream and nobody

walking down the sidewalk will see his yellow raincoat they

will only see a mad man.

iv.

the way others see us,

the way we want them to -

the shame and thrill of that.

v.

instead, he continues along

a perfect picture

an overgrown selection of nerves

the colour of the sun.

i.

wait, stop - slow down. i've got you on the edge

of my nail now, caught between tissue and bone.

you are fixing me with a weary look of despair and

malice, packaged tight with a tall order of

suspicion -

ii.

stop. i'm trying to be okay. i'm trying to be alright, but please

fuck off. i don't give a shit about your deadpan eyes and

mouth lined with granite, i just don't care, just

leave me alone, go

plant roses or something -

iii.

the man on the corner

is watching me carefully, a hawk's

countenance high

in the deep sea of sky.

iv.

yellow is too forceful, colour

is overrated. i splash you with

gutter-water, black on your

lips and tell you please -

park myself in front of you like a dirty car and please

just go.

v.

act iii - you

are not well and you

have infected me too.