Thursday, December 14, 2006


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scoring on the Goldhawk road
casual, loitering in an old leather jacket
absorbing the warmth of the sun
reptile-like through translucent skin
watching the people pass me by
laughing and loose, the first warm day of spring
waiting for TJ’s patient – loping – junky walk
to emerge from the crowd like an optical illusion
hidden in plain view all along

the methadone clinic was a breeze today
no piss tests to outsmart
no arguments with the staff
no queue at the chemists
no sour look from the old whore behind the counter
even the garage music that blasts from passing Ford Cortinas
sounds somehow RIGHT today

this morning we fucked, slow and stoned
before she left for Conduit Street to work
TJ picked up the first time I called
and the trains did not conspire to crucify me

I look up to the powder blue London sky
feel the heat upon my face
and all of the bullshit
that came before this perfect, insulated,
heartbreaking and immortal moment
melts away
like the January snow
Tony O'Neill

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