Tony Lee

The Rob Jackaman Poem

Dead of night the moon
hangs
a mystery exposed
almost
There's this crazywoman in my flat!
She's ranting
Plato
Socrates
Nietzsche
even Foucault
and all of whom
I never read
although I fake it
well
she'd never notice anyway
eyes so clear she's almost
absent
just words within frames
a bio-delivery system and all that
stripped to
tongue
and larynx
and essential scaffolding

She says she's looking for an ideology
or philosophy or
hell
just something to wake up to --the
love of a good man

I say:
maybe I can help you with the last one

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