We Have To Start Somewhere

You don't know what I don't

hack. We mince the treasury of raw

erasure. Sure, we debate our likely 

fate as if whistling like Bing in black and white. 

I like the granular forties, cigarette a-droop 

from the lip of Bogart. Art upstarts and upbraids 

indifference. I have been seventeen several times. 

Do the math in your slurred sleep. 

The charry wait time's embedded in each frame. 

What you say you see comme ci, comme ca. 

Roil me when you can to light a fire. 

A future curl of ash. Clashing in past

tense. A whiff of moonlight suggests

you are not sorry yet. I'm listening,

I tell which one of us. No muss,

no fuss. Falsehood pitches flame

where it is not wanted. I have already come home

to your home plate, where you constable

the tresses of come lately wait time. 

We each claim sorrel will eclipse 

the froth, the known, eclectic bait.