you may find yourself,
some day creeping,
spider-like
over
steep roof tiles,
trying to
evenly distribute
weight.
you may find yourself,
climbing across rooftops,
fortified by good sweet beer
and frustration.
breathing slow,
one step
at a time
you may imagine yourself,
adventuring,
swinging from chandeliers,
holding a rose between your teeth.
you may
some day
meet bogart,
in the street,
wearing no trenchcoat,
no hat,
smelling of whiskey
and cigarettes,
on his way
to the taxidermists,
you may, creep, climb, drunk
and save your private madness
as the form appears,
and fits
