, , , , , , , , , ,

frank in coat














11 years since his death & the thrill remains of that assent – to me taking

the glint of scissors and snipping at his dark, damp, half-


Teddy Boy locks, even to his scrawl of sideburns, though he chided –

“you’re doing it all wrong!” agitated by the Montreal


heat and erratic on his meds – still any chance of getting close to Frank

in a normal, everyday, pseudo-domestic sense


stirred me, though why I didn’t keep one black shaft of what I clipped

I will never understand.