'he's a rebel, and he'll never ever be
any good.'





inclined to make a sketch of him and not for the first time, it is
most cruel

enigmatic from the start, dark eyes like coals, that conscienceless gaze

(a guiltless gaze, so unconcerned ...!)

i'm nearly inclined to pick up a hairbrush
and start singing

of how he was
partly hidden by shadow

absolutely criminal in his first impression
absolutely criminally
bad

leaned back in his chair, arms limp at each side like a junkie, smiling vaguely
as if transcending

immediately recognizable as a night owl

pale, anemic, thin-wristed and mean

a crown of thorns i wear round my chest
every time i move i bleed a little

he's a rebel