Into The Small Hours

Little by little, the night is winning.

We lie apart: a part of our differences lie a quarter of our dreams. 90° of separation. A part, a whole again unless a deviation from the norm discovered. There’s no second chance. Fate is not faith. Love is hatred. Autobiography tells tales.(when it is Man, really) Astrology is evidently not arbitrary like the grouping of stars in constellations – whatever they say about God and thinkers. I a dollop. You a fly. I nourished you as a hill of dung nourishes a fly, and when you had your fill you left me. The sea and gulls, lights and dusts, art and lies, Adam and Eve. A part of you in another part of me, that is, an albumen and a yolk, cannot be separated. They can, but they’d better not. My heart is always static, sometimes erratic -

only I drift from time to time.