P – J = </3

You are so mock-heroic

In your cold-bullet epic.

Everything called “tragic”

Is also known as “Patrick”.

And I’ve got the blues; magic,

Coloured tears so pelagic.


When you left me for him, sir,

Did you know you became her?

Your Little Blue Jean a blur

And I thought this would occur.

Little Blue Jean, “Saboteur”;

Or some other little slur.


Patrick and Jean, at once gone

Like bullets from hearts withdrawn.

Two melted like Nazi Braun—

Melted, would you guess? Not pawned.

We took what we could at dawn;

Chased the dragon, burned the swan.


Desire, like grief, can tie one—

Undone—in the lace homespun.

And I’m running out—bank run

Me a bankroll, would you, hon’?

I have no language—no gun—

To fire at you my last stun.