Death rode in one blustery morning
Marking the coming of Shame,
The horse limp and striped
— tick tock & so they went

Barking up the write tree
Where ink no longer fade,
In sunlight their words stayed
Unstained,

Taintlessness in ambiguities
— and the uneven echo of history
Repeating itself as Death spake
Gingerly

‘Is there a House of Pleasures?’
‘It’s Limpy – needing a rest,’

The emphasis tainted by moonshine
And a red bottle cap
Left by the wayside
Way way desert way,

…

‘I only need a bath, and a pen
Cil
Cut
Sil
Ver is the House of Pleasures’
Death asked and Death stared
Down a barrel

Of a new beginning
Where wee Clouds of Shame
Saunter alongside savvy Selfies
Tapping along to trumpets
Blowing out their own ass.

Death rode in one blustery morning
Marking the coming of Shame.
Alas, no horse just a wannabe bronco
Z could have found some fame
Knowing Death — and the poetry
That could have been.