Schooner or Later Your Time Will Come

The world is being destroyed
by cheap special effects
ten colour two bit technology
crumpling at the edge
never destined to fold neatly
you and I
never one town big enough
for the two of us.

My downtrodden stringray sweetheart
gets to the point and jabs at the throat
with barbs in the flesh of imaginary men
cheek by hooked jowl as squid in a jar.

Wrapped
in paralysis
he orders
one more
and dedicates (half spills)
to some name
and muttering shame
he rises and meets with the floor.

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