Not [es][cape] as in crusader, but [re][make] as in movie!

I left the stadium that night so sad.

I thought quite clearly you’d betrayed me, you see.

I understood right then you’d hurt me on purpose:

the goal was quite obvious – you had tempted

me and turned my head

with your beautiful eyes and thoughts

for my own damn goddamn fucking good.

You’d discovered how your mother’d destroyed my

awful life (not awe-

ful, then!) for

woeful years thirteen, and scream!

And so you’d

discovered – God knows how!  Was it your beautiful

braininess again? – that my insanity had been perpetuated

by my real sense of loss: a man who’d spent the decade

grieving, and being led quite deliberately to see

his state was mad.

And all sorts of ideas flew right through my head

over those years, and I tell

you, dear C, that one thought was this: if ever I didn’t

quite take up your mother on stuff,

if ever I wasn’t sure whether change was the right,

it’s because in your mother I’d seen the spy I’d never been:

the spy who wasn’t; who would never choose

to fight.

And I was clearly deluded – how could your mother be that?


only ever been with me for the me that certainly

I was,

in her presence.  How could there be absolutely anything else?

How might there be forces

quite beyond curious ken – those forces in a land where

barbed wire closed down?  A northern island

where labour was not: and a group of people battling fiercely for

another leader to emerge …


And what if I had been that leader in question?

What if I had been at the centre of plot?

Does that make me even madder than yous already said I was –

to even be able

to contemplate this lot?



Whatever the above, whatever the love, whatever the lies,

whatever the betrayal

that someone, somewhere might have committed,

I realise now what I really need of you,

dearest long-suffering, long-witnessing Claire, is

to accept me as I am in my bad and good;

to help me further good over the bad I can be;

to maybe one day be my friend again, if the bad hasn’t

hurt you too much.

But most of all, just to bear that good witness

to the change I will not

make out of brutish escape: I am here, right now, ready to

promise and understand

that it’s my sole job and responsibility to

remake and

restate and

review my strife:

and then to literally separate the future from the passed,

like that butter with gentle knife I’d love

one breakfast to

share with you, in beautiful

surrounding, in the fair city wherever,

tethered no longer to the

ex-lover who so hurt me when;

but maybe, if yes you do ever say,

anchored to the grandest gold, the bestest soul,

the finest heart a man could

never hope to earn the right to love:

in final, ultimate,

consummately cool








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