This will hurt me...

Some time ago I had an acquaintance who was – at that time – involved with a much older woman who treated him abominably . She would curse at him in public. She would mock his lovemaking abilities in front of mutual friends. She flaunted her (numerous) external dalliances as if they were a virtue. She hit him, bit him, and scratched him. She routinely emptied his bank account to purchase gaudy baubles and trinkets, only to proclaim them “tat” and ridicule his inability to fund more luxurious possessions. One day, she up and left him without a word. “Cheer up old son,” I said to him, “you’re better off without her.” “But you don’t understand,” he pleaded, “they were the best years of my life. She made me so happy .” He was in love, you see.

Someone may be able to guess what today's photo is of, you can find them on a lot of streets around these parts. I know that certain readers (well, one, hello Julie ), have been asking for more poems, and I felt a bit guilty just stopping like that. But as I said before, poetry was only ever a diversion, as I generally consider myself a prose man. I've got books filled with little bits an pieces, beginnings of things, endings of things, dialogue, short stories, complicated narratives, simple word play, outlines of novels never written; you name it, I've started it. So, instead of giving you a poem that I am probably less than happy with, I'd share an experiment in prose from the dark ages of 1998 that I remember liking at the time. I've edited it slightly, chopped a bit here, fiddled with a word there, so let's call this a "2008 re-mix". Now, some people might find this tricky to read, but my advice is to just let it flow, don't stop too long firs...