listen honey, if the day is long
I wait long
honey, there's been too many tears
too much of fate's forming hand
too much glib
and too much post modern irony

listen honey, I call death
a fickle brat
ill-behaved and
boringly out of control

when the day is long
the nights are longer
not for me the perfect prefect post modern
death slumped over an espresso
with a fine cut rollie in its hand

when the long days are filled with longing
the long long night of lives
are sharper than the brittle bone
of death
are sharper than the moon

in the end
direct speech is better than
a dog's breath afternoon
of chic cult cha
spooned through with sharp
ironic   (filings)
honey
    (honey)

© Chris Mansell