I am the weight to balance day
with heavy night, the scale to cloud
a bloodied eye when heart-to-heart
is under pressure, on the trigger,
safety off and spitting spleen
in mouth-to-mouthwash recitation;
the constant counsel, mismatch suit
and tourniquet to tie the tongue
and catch the leak in watertightrope
rationale; the deadsmile party hostess
playing cameo accountant, simply making up
the numbers. I wear the veil of virtue
to attract humiliation when the chickenshit
comes home to roost, his muted swansong
crying foul and laying waste integrity,
for what? To plead a face-to-faceless alibi.

I am the bitter pill that scorns
her lifeless child, humility's accessory
to stoicism, loath to love, a stunted act
that dares epitomise the acceptable face
of deception by proxy, obversity
in adversity, dereliction by denial.
I keep the faith, release my pray;
a happy-ever-afterlife
delivery from drudgery
sweet home alone androgyny,
a day devoid of false alarm
a night adrift in music
drowning out the siren's call.

I am the sap that fills her bole
the tap that turns his wine to blood
when nature swells, a spray of sleaze
that sticks to me like yellow dirt
a jaundiced state of smear
declared in gruntled whispers.

I, the sleeping partner
disavow the company that pursues
the oldest profession.

12/05/2010

Author's Note: complement(?) as compliment to Night Siren

Posted on 12/05/2010
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