Do Be Do

He’s hung himself and
He’s been shot and
He’s locked himself in the cupboard.

The same patterns and felt cycles, those progressions
Moved through with
Comparable compositions: the threes and the taps and the
Coming back:
This wasn’t going to feel this good again.

Delete it all—everything. The floor: here; the body: oh boy:
Like a pixie! To think they were talking
Nonsense in the pub—desperate for poor, poor relations—
Threatening an augmented fifth.

There is something settling about suicide, murder,
Voyeurism; though as long as there are textures—as long as we feel
Significant
And innocent, just once.