Repeating rifles

It doesn’t matter when they’re dead
what they said about what
you read about
dead is about the
matter.

Anti what?
what he wanted was a scale model aero,
not a scarecrow and he was that and more.

But the night closed down, the door was shut,
the candles lit, the corners cut and
what they said and
what they said
reverberated in his head,
echoes of the things and dead at that.

It was never going to be the case that this case would be cold, too old to laugh, too old to cry, too old to live, too old to die, but dying was the case and cold at that.

sometime later when the joke fell flat and I fell into that despondent air she came to me where the dead don’t go and only the life in the living know and kissed me.

And it’s not what they say, she said, and it’s not what the living will think of the dead,
I shook my head in some disbelief,
who was the thief?
who took a liberty?

who took the bell?
who takes the road that takes them to hell?

This is just a Thursday and quite normal in the late day and the right way is not always the way we write or the things that she says in the dead of the night,
write it and be cursed
the way I wrote it and rehearsed
the end.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.