My dear Oscar,

I will continue to indulge myself with the second part of my epic poem, Here and Now; I am sure you will enjoy it – if nothing else it will take your mind off somewhere else from wherever it is that you are languishing! A life of languishing – or so it seems,

Best wishes, as ever,

Algernon B. Duffoure.

2.

Staggered, foot in front,

Drag, be, foot behind,

Weight distributed, uneven terrain,

Lurch forward, backward.

No smile on any face, just nervous hatred,

Deep rooted intolerance of all things breathing,

Envy ungreen, but knowing,

Inadequacy bare, nubile, vulnerable, naked with tits.

Collating no more, marking.

Nor anyone shall weep.

Cries.

Dies.

Legacy unwarranted and unwanted,

Stuck in a drawer,

Drawing water, veiled tear lecturettes and picture books,

And sketchy outlines and no interest shown,

And no sympathy given,

And no empathy established –

Just bumper cars which do not collide.

Too deep rooted suspicion and intolerance.

Not tolerated, 

Nor encompassed,

Nor encouraged,

Just growing feathers and shitting in trees,

With separate piles of shit.

Forming a view, building up

Layer upon layer,

Not what is seen, but what is put there.

Green salads of existence.

Water, life, pulse, death,

Rotting invertebrates, churning closely,

Contemplating or coping with pieces of misery.

Make it all

(My piece, my portion, what I am given)

Happen to me.

No more the indulgence of youth

But only the self indulgence.

Rain and drain and feign my pleasure,

Waiting for pleasure,

Always in anticipation, and highspots lost

Through cables of transmission, too gone, too over, too close.

Useless pursuit – chasing arcs en ciel,

Sucking lead, grim, stunted,

Shattered and underfoot,

Eaten by dogs, children taunting,

Anxiety flooding back from other sources.

Take me on board.

Non reactive, and only elaborated in plastic filigree,

Playing the part, just nothing to say.

One day you’ll be without me.

Making something from nothing, fabrication and invention

Making a mark like a piss stain.

Interpreting and writing out of a hole,

Too close to tears in isolated and self violating splendour

To be seen and acted away,

With beautiful and rapid script,

And mark my yesterday.

Contentment lost beneath the surface,

Wanting the shock and sharp and pick me up verses,

(Melodic muttering).

Just wait and see what is left behind –

Too good to be true.

And in truth I lie all the time,

Couched and bedded inventories,

Unsought itineraries,

Just a bag slung over a shoulder

And a reception for unwarranted thoughts.

A bolster for unmitigated actions,

And blows to a punchbag.

Pregnant, rent, and gaping,

Fingers in wounds (pulling out the entrails)

And not mine but everyone’s.

No rain today, just slithery.

No time today, just endless.

Endless pick me up and moods of bodily functions

And chemical input directing me.

Only a reason to catch it if you can,

Only a reason not to.

Only a drawn affinity in pictogram and brushes.

Go with the flow, only is the flow, of matter against matter –

Continental shelves.

Summarily and coarsely received,

Detracted from and unanalyzed,

Fleeting impressions, and the collisions of moody interplay.

Making of yourself mine, where mine is but worthless and to be tampered with, and yours is all.

Out to destroy and be destroyed, or to upset and be upset.

If I don’t get enough then why not give me more?

Indifference and reactive only to violence and loneliness.

Glass walls erected and keeping in and out.

Only visuals to play with, and make into something,

Only mental imagery to elaborate and build upon.

With no action, and no activation,

No contact, nor continuation.

Hurt and left to hurt,

Bleeding and left to bleed.

Ineffectual niceties cushioning ill feeling and masking awed and inspirational reach out and touch –

Expecting or accepting response,

Sharing nothing because nothing is shared –

One way systems.

Ink into blotting paper, blotters sodden to bits.

Skating in glistening step along lines well travelled and figures laid out and lives laid out to order.

One way of being shagged out – shagged to death.

Cannot slow down, cannot relax, got to keep it going.

Trickle, tickle, up there,

Worming its way up there,

And all for you.

The lopping off of genital contact.

Eating shit shat by others,

And chit chat mildews into lively fungal forms,

With spots pricked out in bas relief,

And such terminology not lost on the knowing ignorant.

Cannot discount a thing,

And never a price to pay,

Only constant perversity,

Unadulterated and never denied.

Filling it in, not fleshing it out.

And more than a line to say

(More than an impress)

Build up a fantasy, whip up a dream,

Create a living entity you call myself, I call you.

Might be nothing with nothing holding it all.

See what a wonderful person I am

While I am mistreating you.

There is some menstrual stain in trying,

Some locked in, locked out, getting closer.

I’d like to teach the world to zing, and pulse rhythm.

Fiddle, fiddle,

Smile and dribble, fiddle.

Oft repeated martyrdom

And open hearted sacrifice,

And record the time passing,

As it happens.

Slipping away –

(Oops it just slipped away!)

Crash in the pan, spew over it, carrots and coriander,

On a roll – me over

On a roll – me over

Me over.