COLLUSION

sitting in the cubicle
cold like an icicle
that was a road i didn´t ride
and now it´s tearing me up
i was a pup
an amorphous mess
without a driving wheel
mummy, daddy
what strange convoluted
stupid conspiracy
between us three led to this ?

you loved me
but between us
we produced a poor result
hurts me to speak thus of myself
self-preservation rebels against these words
words of an age
but the sounds
and the fury
keeps me alive !

CANNY

Angelo was drinking whisky, a sip every ten minutes or so, his words coming slowly, carefully picked. Pausing between sentences, watching the response, listening to words answered. "it´s both, it´s a fight and a game." Weighing his words now, I start to understand. Fighting is an adrenaline thing: fear, desperation and the subjective imperative can turn a man into a killing machine. Everyday impatience and itchy dislikes suddenly explode into burning resentment and ferocious aggression. And as a fighter you are weak, vulnerable, quite simply because it means much too much for you. So you need to be someone who doesn´t care, who could be heading anywhere, who anticipates and savors the other´s moves, who takes the game as it is. I cannot know Angelo´s motivation, what he desired in his heart. Yet he spent his time passing on a truth that few know.
RIP Angelo.