A blue coughdrop lost in the depths of Marlowe’s
sport coat pocket like a spelunker run out of
luck amongst vampire bats & subterranean
phone numbers no one answers gives up the ghost
gasping We are such stuff as dreams are etc. &
sinks like a mollusk that’s lost its shell into the
godforsaken depths of a lachrymose pre-socratic
tidal pool that tastes like a stale Carling Black Label
& it wasn’t so long ago either Jekyl Island GA
June 1988 Jane did the australian crawl in a
lukewarm ocean of interminable love or at least
sex with loads of good will behind it like
a water bed on castors with a burnt clutch lurching
like the subway Marlowe now stumbles into