He always was a B-side

of a lesser hit

of a smaller band

of uncertain renown –

now forgotten en-


stuff you never did 

even want to revisit.


Even for a day:

even just for that may

which meant

you could pre-

tend to things

you clearly had lost



And so the love

of his life

escaped him quite

[s]hurtingly: like a

hunted unrobed man

with ransom priceless.


But was that him

or her?

And was the hunted man

actually the

woman hunting?


“And was she actually

not me but

the her[t] who’d driven

everything around?”


And so how unsound


everything truly was.


And so how alone did

life’s tragedy cross.


And so how lonely he now


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