Posted in Love

Cats Away

What’s love got to do with it
that’s what the song said.
A boy’s weekend away –
young men
and boys will be boys
ball shooting
and chasing pussy.
A party left behind wanted to be filled in
details – all of them,
especially the last.

Clarkey and Dex
and Bone
and the narrator – how was it?
“Bro it was sennnnssssational
and Ray
ah no
he said ….. he said ….”
a pause
to offer the flag of excuse
to a runaway train of scorn,
“he said he …. be in love.”

Love? What’s that got to do with it? ”
A lesson on immiscible
there’s pussy
and there’s love –
• separate 
• unrelated
• dissimilar 
• not even needing to be on on speaking terms.



Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.