HOLE
THERE’S A HOLE IN THE BUCKET
Sometimes you die by the drop said Tibor
the glass restorer Everything he said was
cryptic Humpty-dumpty rhetoric +fractured
platitudes
He was rugged +prone to monastic retreats in
Slovakia Obtuse humour: Is that your truck
outside? pointing to the 3 ton engine running
I laughed out loud long+hard as Tibor shuddered
spasmodically
On a day when yet another friend fell into the grip
of un-hingement by vertigo Stygian blight on 2nd
half of lifers Who must now cling to walls +strange
men to keep from keeling over
Maybe the world is flat after all +this is the part where
the edge is everywhere By way of good-bye Tibor grabbed
my ass He said: Walk like a sailor +learn how to fly baby!
__
Come Spring 2016
