And he thought I was someone else
all evergreen and 'joy in the living'.
Downcast eyes betraying monstrosities,
victimhood wriitten all over me.
And the footsteps pounding behind me
were full of the fallen thoughts of the true troop.
Precise and deliberate bell sounds in the ego;
how was he to know?
A greater psycho prowled enthralled
with the logic of consequence,
of the power struggle in the temple;
the last tutonic knight on the battlements
of this dark beat city breathing asleep
with a million mired pulses, weary
of the morning after racing through the night.
I stop, place a cigarette on my lip and light
up this inglorious scene from shadow,
and in flickering flame, the grand revealing
of a ferocity unchecked and how was he to know
that the victim was the collective ego
carrying judgements in his pocket.....?