The improbability of changehit him in the gutwith the impact of a bullet.He stirred his coffee carefully.looked at it,poured it into the sink.Never again will hefool himself into believing.
It’s a blind night that speaks to you-let it spill under your heel.
Like a magnifying glassagainst the dark suntraining violence and viceon a tiny speck of arm.So the body in its minutepart experience the painand horror of murder,torture and abuse.To say: this is real, and real;to say: this is not real, not real.But the seed has been sownso it will grow to bearits terrifying fruit.
When the waiting endsthe hours sigh with regretdrop one by one,retired soldiers of forgotten campaigns.It’s no longer possibleto buy you flowers or go for a walk.Let’s storm the edifices of tomorrow,fill them with cries of joy and terror.
Two castles, two heartsand two empty seats-the feast’s not begun yet:the host’s out hunting fleas.Two castles, two storiesand a corpse at the gate-the guests, all fallen quiet,and the tablecloth’s turned red.Two castles, two lives:one spent, one unlived-God of the Last Chancereaching up his sleeve.